


The Gospels of Castiel, Angel of the Lord

by pebbles12345



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel and Dean Winchester First Meet, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel's Handprint (Supernatural), Castiel's True Form (Supernatural), Character Study, Chuck Shurley Being an Asshole, Chuck Shurley is Castiel's Parent, Coda, Gabriel is Castiel's big brother, M/M, No Smut, Post Episode 15x13, Rated M for Language and Situations, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Writer Chuck Shurley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 87,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25884205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pebbles12345/pseuds/pebbles12345
Summary: "Tell me your story."Castiel is taken from a beer run to a bar where his father is hunched over a laptop demanding his son tell his side of things. Chuck wants the story from the beginning, from Castiel's point of view, because according to Chuck, Cas was really only supposed to be in three books.Annoyed by his son's distraction over a certain green-eyed hunter, Chuck brings him into the bar as well. Not seeing anyway out of this, the angel reluctantly begins the story of his existence, beginning with his creation. However, that is not the story Chuck is most interested in."Your existence begins and ends with Dean Winchester."Cas gives his Dad the story of his life, from beginning to now, the end never being too far from sight. This tale is the story of Castiel, Angel of the Lord, from his point of view (with Chuck's literary influence of course).This story provides / will provide coda for every episode the character of Castiel appears beginning with "Lazarus Rising" and continuing throughout the seasons. In addition to the coda it has its own plot as well, with present Dean and Cas being more or less at the mercy of Chuck's every whim.Spoilers for Season 15
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 94
Kudos: 74





	1. Profound Bond

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for choosing to read this tale! I am not quite sure how long this particular story will end up being. It will follow Castiel from his existence to Season 15. I hope to do the character some type of justice, because Castiel is such a wonderful character, and I often wondered how he felt throughout the show. Please let me know if you think I need to alter my characterization of him, I want y'all to enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, or any other TV Show, Movie, Song, Book, Website, and/or App referenced in this tale. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Contains mentions of a panic attack 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this first chapter!!

“Tell me your story.”

Castiel was having a terrible case of déjà vu, which was not necessarily an abnormal occurrence for an angel of millennia, but it was still disconcerting. He looked around for the owner of the voice and found it to belong to his father. Castiel inhales deeply and walks to sit across from him, coat moving behind him in the breeze.

Chuck was sitting in front of a laptop, glasses he didn’t need perched on the end of his nose. Castiel had to exercise a great deal of self-control to not roll his eyes. He needed to at least be alive to fight the being in front of him.

“You know my story. You are the beginning and ending of it.”

Chuck scrunches up his face and clicks his tongue. “Did you know you were only supposed to be a minor character, Cas?”

Castiel shrugs, his blue eyes narrowing. He knew Dean was probably looking for him by now and hoped the man wouldn’t do something stupid.

“Yeah, so, you were only supposed to be around for three or four books and then you were gonna be…” Chuck makes a slicing motion across his throat. “Gone.”

“Okay…”

“But…” Chuck makes two glasses appear from the void and puts one in front of him and one in front of Cas. He pours an amber liquid from the ether into them and takes a long sip. “Have you had Tennessee Whiskey? There’s a reason there’s a song about it.”

Castiel simply breathes, an action he still doesn’t really need to partake in, but one that feels natural nonetheless.

“Right. Anyway, so yeah, uh, three books. But I sent out Lazarus Rising, and you exploded.”

Cas narrows his eyes again.

“Not literally. Well, not yet anyway.”

The narrowing turns to a scowl. “Why am I here?”

“I already said.” The righteous fury makes a slight appearance, and then just as quickly as it appeared, Chuck hides it once again. “To tell me your story.”

“You…”

“No, Cas. I mean yeah, I put some things in front of you, but you still chose free-will all on your own.”

Chuck drinks more and looks back to his computer. “So yeah, all the fans fell for the deep voice, trench coat, and obliviousness. So, I kept you around.”

“Um… thank you?”

Chuck looks over the screen. “That’s the thing isn’t it? You are my creation, my son, have been since the dawn of time, but everything you have truly _learned_ has come from one man, including the disrespect, and I want the story of that.”

Castiel swallows, another action that is not yet needed. 

“But, because it’s a story, we’re gonna start at the beginning, and I’m gonna help with that.”

Castiel is unsettled, worry creases every feature, and Chuck rolls his eyes.

“I’m not going to kill you Castiel.”

“That is appreciated. However, who is going to read this story?”

Chuck shrugs, the action apparent on his face. “I’m going to start again, and I don’t know, I figure they’ll get a pretty big kick out of it.”

Castiel’s brow furrows and he leans in towards Chuck, “You are going to create another world?’

“Oh yeah, I mean, just because you guys failed doesn’t mean the next batch will.”

“Next batch?”

Chuck takes the glasses off thoughtfully. “Yeah, Cas, just because one apple is bad you don’t throw out the whole batch.”

“That is exactly what you are doing.” The idiom didn’t sound quite right, but he thought it best not to mention that.

Chuck shrugs again and replaces the glasses. “Okay, so the beginning.”

Castiel knew Dean was probably very close to doing something very stupid, and he shifted in his seat.

“Oh for the love of…”

Chuck snaps and Dean appears next to Cas.

“Cas, what the fuck? Chuck?” Dean starts to rise, but Chuck stills him.

“Cas, you all right?”

Castiel nods. “I am sorry, Dean.”

“Hardly think is your fault, Cas.”

“Actually, kinda is. He wouldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Dean’s eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. “Isn’t that kinda more your fault?”

Chuck pulls a pencil from the ether and taps against his teeth. “Oh, you two think your ‘profound bond’ is my thing?”

Dean angrily shrugs, “Isn’t it?”

Chuck shakes his head. “No, you see, I was telling Cas here that I actually wanted him out pretty early on.”

“Out?”

“I was apparently only supposed to be in three books.”

Dean has no problem rolling his eyes.

“But, Cas here has appeal, so, I kept him in, but that other thing? All the two of you.”

“Whatever, why are we here?”

“I want Castiel’s story. And since your mere existence was distracting him, I brought you in.”

Chuck smiles and Dean really wants to punch the smug smile right off his stupid face.

“So, once more, the beginning.”

Cas sits back in the chair and pushes his drink toward Dean, who readily accepts.

“I do not know what you are expecting from me.”

“You are an angelic being, we are going to start with your creation story.”

Dean uses his glass to gesticulate. “Can’t you just do all this without him? And let us go back home to watch some movies and spend time with Sam before we all die?”

Chuck points at Dean with the pencil. “See, that’s new, and not at all me. You, in the beginning? If this were your situation in book one, what would you have done?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“You would’ve drowned yourself in booze and women. And now? You want to watch movies with Cas and Sam.”

Dean shrugs. “I’ve grown.”

“What I don’t get is the audience growing with you.”

Dean’s lips pout in a lethargic manner. He shrugs with barely any movement, either not really caring or trying not to. Chuck refills his glass.

“You were the heartthrob. The slayer of monsters, the savior of mankind.”

Dean looks at him disgustedly.

“And you still are, I guess. But the women thing is weird. I didn’t really write that.”

“Maybe, _I_ got tired of using people.”

Cas flinched at the implication in his friend’s sentence.

Chuck shrugs again. “So, the only real story I have on you, Cas, is ‘The Man Who Would be King’ and uh, we need to fix that. So these, what we’re writing right here, are going to be known as the Castiel gospels in the redo.”

Dean slams down his glass. “Redo?”

His eyes fill and Cas puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. He squeezes slightly, trying to remind Dean just where they are and to _not be so stupid_. He tried to press it into his mind with all the grace he had left. The effort left him dizzy, and he breathed deeply to recover and keep up his defenses.

Dean took the hint and continued drinking.

“Yeah, so, redo. Okay, so, for like the fifteenth hundred time. The beginning.” Chuck lingers his fingers over the keyboard and wiggles them.

Castiel knows he has to give in, and he just hopes this won’t be as bad as he feels it will be.

*******

There were multitudes of stars in the firmament, each unique and bright in its own way. The stars had qualities that made them desirable to the archangels, each of four dividing them up amongst them. One star burned brightly with colors of dark blue, platinum, and ebony. This star was Gabriel’s favorite and he approached his father with the celestial body.

His father smiled kindly upon his son and took the star in his hands. He breathed life into it, and created the heavenly body known as Castiel.

*******

“Dude.”

Chuck looked up from his keyboard at the eldest Winchester.

“What?”

“You created Cas from Gabe’s favorite play toy?”

Chuck’s face develops a sort of frown. “I don’t think you understand, umm… how can I phrase this so even you will understand?”

Dean’s face sets immediately, and he looks to his best friend, who shrugs.

“Castiel is the only angel who was created at the behest of another. He is the only angel created from a star.”

Dean suddenly just felt so much worse for Gabe’s death. He tries to snap out of that train of thought real quick.

“All right, so shouldn’t he be stronger than the others or something?”

Chuck shrugs, “He is.”

“His grace is failing you bag of dicks.”

Cas stomps on Dean’s foot, hard.

The Chuck mask drops for a mere second, but it’s long enough to shut Dean up.

“See, Cas, that’s why I didn’t want him here. He outshines you.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I do not understand.”

Chuck sighs and sits back in his seat. “People love you, son, LOVE you. You boosted the world’s trench coat sales. But you never think you’re good enough to be in the Sam and Dean show.”

“You just told me I was only supposed to be in three books.”

“You gave yourself up to The Empty. What type of self-worth is that?”

Castiel grows angry and Dean can feel the heat radiating off of him.

“For my son. Whom you killed anyway.”

“See, was it really worth it?”

Cas got up abruptly and went over to the bar that suddenly appeared. He rests his palms against it.

Dean looks toward him helplessly. Chuck rolls his eyes. “Go on.”

Dean walks over to him and places a hand on his shoulder.

“What does he mean, Cas?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, man, it matters. You fucking matter.”

What comes out of Cas’s mouth is a mirthless laugh, cold, and freezes Dean down to his very core.

He pulls Cas into a hug, right there, in front of Chuck.

Cas barely reciprocates, and Dean feels the rejection in his soul.

“What’s he talking about?”

“I made a deal with the Empty to get Jack back and it’s going to take me when I allow myself to be happy.”

Dean hugs him even tighter and Cas eventually gives in and takes the comfort.

“You’re a fucking stupid bastard.”

“So are you.”

Dean finds himself laughing slightly before they are shoved back into their chairs.

“Okay, so, after Gabriel asked for you to be brought forth.”

*******

“Why do they do that, brother?”

Gabriel smiles at him, his multiple wings shaking with amusement. “They are trying to ensure they will not be naked in Father’s presence.”

“Naked?”

Gabriel contemplates an answer, love and adoration for his brother combining with hatred for what he had wrought.

“Do you remember when Lucifer fell?”

Castiel moves to the spot under one of his brother’s wings and makes the equivalent of a nod. “He felt we should not love the humans.”

Gabriel’s wings lift high, and one pulls Castiel towards him. “He felt as if Father’s will should not be obeyed.”

Castiel shuddered, his grace rippling in steel gray waves.

“Lucifer rose to earth to defile humanity.”

“Why?”

“Because he is a petulant child who did not get his way.”

*******

“You see how I’m doing this from third person, even though you’re telling me what happened?”

Castiel simply stares at his father. His eyes are glistening from the memory of his brother.

“Oh, you still miss him, don’t you?”

Dean lifts a finger from around his glass. “Maybe Cas would be a better storyteller if you shut up.”

“You don’t write, do you Dean?”

Dean rubs his forehead. “No, Chuck, I don’t. I’m usually either too busy ganking monsters, getting Cas unbrainwashed, saving Sammy, or some other apocalyptic shit. Haven’t had much down time to Stephen King it.”

Chuck shrugs and turns back to Cas.

“Next?”

*******

“You are to lead an army, Castiel.”

Faces set, form resolute, wings furled, the Angel inquires as to his duties.

“Earth is corrupt and must be destroyed.”

His grace wavers, regret weaving throughout his form. “I would prefer another duty.”

Zachariah tilts the head that appears as an earth lion. “What you prefer is not what matters, solider. What matters are orders. And you are ordered to lead an army to destroy earth.”

The Angel stands unfaltering, wings open to full length, black, blue, and platinum moving throughout them. “I am an angel, not a solider. It was my Father’s orders to protect and love humanity, I will not be an instrument of their destruction.”

*******

Castiel looks to his father, unbelieving. “I did not remember that.”

“Oh, yeah, that was uh, because of one of your many brain washings. Or fine adjustments or whatever. I just brought those back, you know, better story, makes you more uh… sympathetic.”

Cas breathes in deeply, memories flooding his brain. He holds his forehead against the pain.

“Cas?”

Dean wraps a protective arm around his shoulder.

Cas lefts his head back, grace streaming from his eyes before they return to their normal blue.

“I… I remember everything.”

Chuck nods, nonchalantly. “Yeah, that was the point.”

*******

“Shepherding your flock, Castiel?”

Castiel looks towards the voice of his sister. His grace settles, serene blue flowing throughout his form.

“Hello, Hannah.”

The stand on the mountain together, watching humanity below them.

“They created the wheel today. It will help them in many endeavors.”

His sister regards him with interest. “Would you rather not be in Heaven, Castiel?”

The Angel turns to her, grace moving in slight waves with curiosity. “Heaven is not our job, sister.”

*******

“Hannah.” Castiel barely breathes out.

Loss weighs on the angel like an anchor on the ocean floor. He cannot move against it, he is unable to battle the crushing effect it seems to have on his vessel’s chest. His chest.

Dean instantly recognizes it as a panic attack.

“Hey, buddy, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

He puts his hand on his best friend’s chest. “Breathe, Cas.”

Castiel tries to listen. He grabs the hand Dean placed on top of his chest and closes his eyes. Dean places his other hand on the angel’s back.

“All right, yeah, good, in and out, yeah… okay.”

Cas dropped his hand when he once more felt in control.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Chuck regards them much the way a farmer would regard his two prize cows. “I really did not intend for you two to be like this. Its… thrown a wrench into a lot of the machinery. I actually tried to avoid it, like at all costs.”

Cas is still breathing slowly in and out, which makes Dean take over again. “I’ll bite. What the fuck?”

“Lisa?”

Dean’s eyes go dangerous. “Don’t you mention her.”

Chuck is unphased. “Amara even.” Chuck shakes his head in a display of feigned bewilderment.

Dean decided he didn’t care. He turned his attention back to Cas. “You okay, man?”

“Yes.”

“Good, let’s continue then, shall we?”

*******

“I do not want to go, brother.”

Gabriel turns one of his heads towards the heavens, a tinge of resoluteness apparent in all his eyes. “Then you shall stay with me, Castiel.”

The younger angel looks towards his brother with admiration. “You will take me with you Gabriel?”

All the heads nod. “I shall. Where do you want to explore, Cassie?”

The angel’s contemplative faces make his brother smile. “The highest mountain?”

“Your wish is my command.”

_Whoosh_.

“I am afraid I must put an end to your rebellion, brother.”

The young angel shirks at the presence of Michael, but Gabriel stands resolute, wings unfurled and proud.

“This is not an act of rebellion, nor am I a rebel. You have plenty in the host to accomplish your mission, Castiel is under my command.”

Michael’s faces turn toward the land they stand in front of. “It is there you are correct and mistaken at the same time, brother.”

Gabriel rolls all of his eyes toward the firmament, an action that confuses Castiel. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, Mike, whatever it is, get on with it.”

“I abhor the shortened version of my name, brother. Please refrain from using it. Castiel is no longer under your control, Zachariah is the leader of his Garrison.”

“I am Gabriel, Archangel of the Lord, Zachariah has no command over me.”

“Your pet is a soldier, nothing more, and he will fight tonight’s battle.”

“What battle, Michael? You are killing the firstborn of Egypt, hardly a fight against the hordes of Hell. Neither Castiel nor I are needed in your ‘mission’.”

“It is commanded by our father.”

“Then let him do it.”

Michael turns to Gabriel quickly and swiftly, causing Castiel to stand next to his brother, wings proudly unfurled.

“That is blasphemy, brother. You are too much like the Morningstar.”

Gabriel’s face becomes set. “I am nothing like our fallen brother. He wanted to pervert humanity; I want to save them.”

Castiel stands tall next to his brother and finds strength in his words.

“Castiel and I will have no part of this.” 

The next moment Castiel and Gabriel are standing atop the peak of the mountain that is now known as Mt. Everest, overlooking the landscape below them.

“Thank you, brother.”

“Do not thank me, Cassie. Michael is a bit of a pretentious archangel; he believes everything is right simply because it is ordered by Heaven.”

“Is it not?”

“Sometimes, we have to use our own judgement where matters of right and wrong are concerned.”

“I do not understand.”

“You will, Cassie.”

*******

“Huh.” Chuck lowers his glasses on his nose to focus on Cas. “I never knew you two were that close.” He shrugs and perches his fingers over the keyboard again.

Castiel feels a deep pull within his gut, as if there were a hole. His hand goes to stomach and he realizes he feels the need to regurgitate. He knows this is not possible because he doesn’t eat. He swallows repeatedly, a glass of water appearing in front of him.

“Dean wasn’t kidding about the grace failing, was he?” Castiel drinks the water deeply.

Dean periodically shoots him worried glances.

“You didn’t remember that about Gabe, Cas?”

The angel shakes his head. He looks to Chuck. “Did he?”

“Oh, did Gabriel remember all of your guys’ interactions?”

Cas nods.

“Oh yeah, sure.”

Cas buries his face in his hands. “I never even… he must’ve thought I didn’t…”

“Cas, it’s okay, man. Gabe took one for the team, he must’ve known you thought of him as family.”

Castiel looks to his friend in a sort of disbelief. “Family? Dean, he brought about my creation. He took me to a mountain so I would not have to participate in the killing of Egypt’s firstborn. I _loved_ him. And the closest interaction I had with him that I remember was in a figment Metatron produced.”

Dean runs a finger over the rim of his glass. “That’s what I mean by family, Cas.”

The angel’s eyes dart to his friend’s before they once more fall upon his father.

Chuck shakes his head.

“Next.”

*******

“I do not understand why what they are doing is considered _wrong_.”

“Yours is not to question why, yours is to do and die.”

“Are they being laid to waste for the men laying with men?”

Uriel turns to his brother, malice in his many eyes. “I know not why we are to destroy this city, Castiel, I only intend to follow through with my orders.”

A lone angel wanders throughout the streets of an ancient city, rubble collecting at his sandaled feet.

“Are you lost, neighbor?”

Castiel regards the man with interest. Light brown eyes smile at him. 

“Come, sup with me.”

Castiel follows the man into his home, removing his shoes at the door.

“I am Joram, and this is my wife Lamuela, welcome to our home.”

Castiel nods solemnly, his vessel feeling foreign to him. “Thank you.”

Lamuela smiles broadly and offers Castiel water to drink.

“Please, sit.”

Castiel reclines on one of the cushions.

Joram reclines next to him as Lamuela places dishes upon the table.

“Are you a stranger to our land, brother?”

Castiel regards the kind brown eyes. “I am no one.”

“Come now brother, we are all someone.”

Castiel’s eyes move toward the roof of the modest dwelling.

“I do not understand.”

“Understand what, neighbor?”

“How you are to be perceived as wicked.”

Joram laughs, a hearty thing. “Oh, you have heard tales have you brother?”

Castiel attempts to nod. “Some, yes.”

“Oh, we are not as bad as all that.”

Castiel regards him fondly. “You seem very kind.”

“We try.”

Uriel bursts down their door, causing the couple to scramble to a corner. Castiel stands in front of them, wings outstretched.

“Move aside brother. We are to lay waste to this town. Your presence in it will not matter.”

“They have done nothing wrong Uriel, they are kind. Spare them.”

“No.”

Castiel regards his surroundings with awe. Gabriel is sitting beside him, amusement twinkling in several of his eyes.

“I thought Uriel…”

“Oh, he did. I swooped in in the nick of time.”

“I do not understand that expression.”

“You will.”

“Where are we?”

“Joram and Lamuela’s heaven. You seemed fond of them.”

“I was.” Castiel looks around sadly. “I could not save them, Gabriel.”

“You can’t save everybody Cassie, though you try.”

*******

“You stole that line?”

Cas looks at his friend with a deadpan expression. “I suppose it was important enough to me to stay in my subconscious, and yes, I recycled it.”

“It stuck with me too, Cas.”

Chuck makes an expression halfway between disgust and amusement as he switches Dean’s whiskey for coffee.

*******

To be an angel in the Host’s Heaven, a certain skill set was required. These skills required absolute and unbridled loyalty to that Host. No questions were allowed, no second guesses to be made. Every angel possessed these skills, except for one: Castiel.

Castiel was an angel who always believed humanity could be saved, sins forgiven, love can prevail. This was an annoyance to all other angels, especially Naomi.

“You are to complete your mission without question, Castiel.”

“I do not understand, are we not supposed to love and protect humanity? Our father…”

“Is not here.”

Castiel regards her with sad eyes, disbelief apparent in his grace. Fear rippling through, creating a minor earthquake in the area that will be known as California.

Michael suddenly appears and forces Castiel into a type of chair and secures him with Enochian ropes. He nods once curtly to Naomi and flies away. 

“Let me go! Gabriel!”

“Oh dear. Are you calling for your protector? I regret to inform you Castiel, Gabriel left Heaven.”

Castiel no longer questioned his orders. He no longer doubted Heaven’s intent, he was a good solider, following all of his father’s commands without hesitation. He was a hammer, an angelic force that was stronger than all the other angels. Strong enough to lead, to command. And he did, brilliantly. He led armies that destroyed the hordes of Hell. Demons fled as the mention of his name. He was Castiel, Angel of the Lord.

Until he met Dean Winchester.

*******

Cas’s eyes meet Dean’s in a sideways glance.

“Right.” Chuck pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose and nods. “So, this is where the real story begins.”

“I thought you said you wanted it from the beginning.”

“Oh yeah, but those tidbits are gonna be intermingled, I like flashbacks. Like when you witness Sam and Dean having a ‘moment’ I’m gonna insert one of those bits with Gabe. For literary foil purposes. Mirroring, if you will.”

Dean looks mildly unimpressed as he sips his coffee.

“But, son, I kinda get the feeling that your existence begins and ends with Dean Winchester, not me.”

Cas’s eyes grow wide and he regards his father with a renewed interest.

“Think about it, kay? Every time you’ve died? For him.”

Dean swallows, obviously uncomfortable.

“I’ve died for Jack, once.”

Chuck makes a sort of click with his tongue against his teeth. “Did you though, really? I mean you what, marched right up to Lucifer, in front of Dean and stabbed him through? I’m reading it as for Dean. Both times you exploded. You got your grace back so you could help him with Ezekiel, which you knew would kill you, because hello, stolen grace? It’s always been for Dean, kid.”

Dean watches as his coffee swirls in the mug, unable to look his best friend in the eye.

“I so didn’t mean for it to be that way.”

Castiel closes his eyes and wants nothing more than to be back home, in his room, away from this.

“Anyway, let’s get to it, shall we? First chapter. I’m thinking of titling it, ‘Profound Bond’.”

“Original.” Dean mutters.

“Just the chapter, not the book. Judgy, Dean.”

“So, Cas, start at the beginning. When you got the instruction to get Dean out of the pit.”

Cas looks to his friend, who dares eye contact. Dean tries his best to smile and ends up with a sad facsimile. He nods, encouraging Cas, who recounts the most memorable experience of his existence.


	2. The Handprint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck gets Castiel to recount the story of how he got Dean out of Hell. Dean realizes a few new things about his best friend, and learns to appreciate him for them. Plus, hand holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so, so much for the kudos and subscriptions!! They mean so much to me as the author of this tale!!
> 
> I do not own Supernatural or any other TV Show, Book, Movie, Song, Website, and/or app mentioned in this story. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Panic 
> 
> Since I have began writing Supernatural fanfiction I learned pretty quickly describing how Castiel got Dean out of Hell was one of my favorite scenes to write. I hope I was able to do this scene some type of justice, I may have veered away from some canon descriptions of the scene for which I apologize. I am currently re-watching season four episodes so I can try and describe each episode through Cas's eyes. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading and I do so hope you enjoy this chapter!

The Host are assembled in the great hall, an angel whose true form rose from the crowd to take his place, towering over the podium in front of him. His grace ripples in slight waves as he addresses his audience, every angel in his garrison.

“Brethren, I stand before you with a task handed down to me from our Father Himself.”

The angels begin to murmur amongst themselves, their grace undulates with excitement, bright yellow overtaking the Host.

Zachariah stands even taller, his wings unfurled with pride. “We are to rescue the righteous man from Hell. The one true vessel of our most esteemed brother, Michael.”

The murmur dies down, replaced by steady grace colored by dread: a dismal gray. Zachariah’s wings curl into themselves and he begins pacing back and forth. “Am I correct in my assumption, brothers and sisters, that not a one among you wishes to volunteer for this task? Do I lead those who do not wish to do their father’s bidding? Am I amongst angels or mud monkeys?”

One angel, in the back of the congregation, stands, black, dark blue, and platinum wings unfurled, grace steady with the color of resolution and righteous pride: emerald green.

“I volunteer, brother, to scour perdition and raise the righteous man.”

Zachariah’s multiple eyes scan the host before him, hoping to find someone else to volunteer for the mission handed down from God himself, but his hopes are unfounded and he looks to Castiel, the only angel willing to brave the hordes of Hell alone to save the righteous man.

“Your offer is accepted brother.”

*******

“You volunteered to save my ass?”

Cas looks to his best friend, eyes steady, unwavering, just as they were all those years ago. “Of course, Dean.”

Chuck scrunches up half of his face and taps his pencil against his teeth. He chuckles slightly and Dean glares at him.

“What’s so fucking funny?’

Cas elbows him, but Dean ignores it. He knows they have a chance to beat this bastard, but he’s had just about enough of this shit.

“I was just thinking about that vision I gave Sam.”

Dean tenses, his nostrils flare, and he practically bares his teeth. Castiel feels the fear rippling throughout his grace and he uncharacteristically grips Dean’s knee, causing the other man to send him a questioning and shocked glance. Castiel breathes a sigh of relief as he lets go of Dean’s knee, knowing the motion allowed him to diffuse the situation for a moment at least.

Chuck pretends he couldn’t see the whole display and continues talking. “With the future, I showed him that you go off the deep end because you had to lock Cas up in Ma’lak box because he went crazy from the mark that locked me up.”

Dean’s eyes narrow as he shrugs. “Kay?”

Chuck thoughtfully bites the end of his pencil. “Cas wouldn’t have gone crazy, Dean.”

The hatred resurfaces, and Cas’s hand goes back to Dean’s knee under the table. Dean takes the grounding the way in which it is offered, and he breathes deeply and secretly hopes Cas will keep his hand there for how ever long this was going to take. He honestly couldn’t have cared any less what Chuck thought about it.

“Okay.”

“Castiel has been underestimated at every turn, by every being, including you and your brother. He would have been able to handle the mark without any difficulty.”

Dean drains the rest of his mug, tears brimming in green eyes. “Great.”

“But the thing is, it happened to you, so Sam believed it would happen to Cas, because to Sam, you’re the strongest person or being to ever exist, and if you fell victim to the mark, Cas would too.”

Dean swipes his hand across his face, and Cas’s grip tightens.

“Is there a point to this conversation besides torturing Dean, Father?”

Chuck looks to Castiel and something almost softens in his eyes, but the Chuck mask is once more put on, and he continues.

“No, not really. Okay, so after you volunteered.”

*******

Castiel stands in front of pristine white desk, the sanitary aspect of it bringing a slight feeling of anxiety to the angel’s grace. The room was impersonal, sanitized, and it smelled of the substance the humans called ‘rubbing alcohol’. If Castiel had a stomach, it would have turned.

“I suppose you have found your perfect vessel?”

Castiel nods his heads respectfully.

“And?” Zachariah prods, frustrated the angel did not continue of his own accord.

“I have established contact; I believe he will agree when the time is right.”

Zachariah nods with a slight roll of his eyes.

“You are to assume his shape when you greet the righteous man in Hell.”

“I understand.”

*******

“Whoa, wait a sec. You can change your true form to look like Jimmy? Why use Jimmy then?”

Cas’s hand leaves Dean’s knee and rests on his arm where a handprint used to be.

“Angels are allowed to appear as other beings in Heaven and Hell, however, in order to manifest on earth, a vessel is required.”

“I don’t remember you in Hell, man.”

“You wouldn’t.” Cas smiles sadly and moves his hand from Dean’s shoulder back to his knee. He could read from Dean’s reaction that the other man got comfort from the feeling, and Cas did as well.

*******

“Ideally, you will retrieve him before he sheds blood in Hell.”

Castiel’s eyes scrunch in confusion before realization dawns upon them. “I do not understand brother, you wish to stop the apocalypse, but you mentioned the righteous man is Michael’s true vessel.”

Castiel notices an almost imperceptible tick on one of the angel’s lips, and he tilts one of his heads.

“It is true we are trying to prevent the end of times, Castiel, however, we are preparing for the worst-case scenario. Hell is a vast place, and covertly finding a soul may be a long task.”

“I understand.”

*******

“What a dick. Glad I stabbed that slimy son-of-a-bitch.”

“Yeah, he did go off script.”

Dean’s leg begins to bounce and Cas squeezes once, twice, three times, before Dean calms it. If Dean was being honest with himself, which he typically didn’t allow himself to be, he would say he would enjoy being completely enveloped by Cas at this point. Chuck’s little game of ‘Cas’s story’ was tearing off bits of his heart, or soul. Revelations were coming too quickly, too intensely, and he was still riding the emotions of purgatory. He knew Cas must really fucking love him to forgive him so readily. Fuck, the guy volunteered to drag his sorry ass out of hell. And he knew Cas loved him, because the angel told him in that barn where he was dying. ‘I love you. I love all of you.’ The ‘all of you’ offered after Dean couldn’t choke out a response because he was a fucking coward. But leaning into Cas’s side, allowing the angel to wrap his arm around him would be a sign of weakness in front of Chuck, and he wasn’t going to show any weakness in front of that dick.

But fuck it, if they got out of this shitty fake bar, with its good whiskey and shitty coffee, he was gonna let Cas hold him. Fuck, they would even _cuddle_ , and maybe, hopefully more. If it didn’t make Cas too happy. Dean smirks slightly before he gets angry again.

“Why’d you make that fucking deal Cas?”

Castiel narrows his eyes and offers a sort of disbelief to his friend. “Are you serious, Dean? We are currently discussing the deal you made.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have anybody besides Sammy.” Dean looks into his cup, which has been magically refilled. He halfway notices Chuck’s interested stare at the two of them. He decided he didn’t care.

“You are upset I didn’t take you and Sam into consideration?”

“Well, yeah.”

Cas nods solemnly, and removes his hand from Dean’s knee, and Dean immediately misses the connection.

Fuck. Dean knows he fucked up again. “Look, I get it, okay. Jack was your son.”

“Our son, Dean.”

Chuck raises his eyebrow, and Dean shakes his head quickly to focus only on Cas. “Yeah, man, our son, and I know I would’ve probably done the same thing, but man, I…”

Cas allows his eyes to calm and stares into his friend’s. “You what, Dean?”

Dean takes a sip of his coffee in order to break the intense gaze. “I need you, and now, what, if you’re happy ‘poof’ you’re gone?”

Cas sighs. “I doubt I will be happy for a very long time, Dean.”

Well, if that just didn’t crush Dean’s very soul. He nods, lips pursed. “Right.”

“That was a really fun intermission, but uh, let’s get back to the story, kay?”

*******

The Seraphim took on the visage of his true vessel in order to more readily blend into the souls of Hell. Enochian sigils were wound around him in a type of binding, hiding him from the demons of Hell. If he were to get too close to a demon, they would be able to recognize him, and he would have to do battle. His blade had to be pulled from the ether and held between the folds of binding, since there was no plane he could summon the weapon from in Perdition.

Castiel soon learned the time of Hell was not the same as the time of Heaven or earth. He wondered through the fires and the ice for days, weeks, months, years. The human souls recognized him for what he was, and he often had to stab them through, for them to be destroyed. He tried to leave them, but they threatened to tell of his existence to the demon guards. They were only gone long enough for Castiel to leave them, as Hell did not easily let go of the souls it possessed.

“Water.” A dry, parched voice begged.

Castiel chanced a glance at the speaker and winced. He walked over to the inverted cross and watched as blood dripped from the body of Judas Iscariot into the red clay surrounding him. Judas’s eyes pleaded, begged.

“Mercy, please Angel.”

Castiel’s nostrils flared and he kneeled. “You betrayed our Lord.”

Judas allows tears to escape, which makes two small puddles beneath him. “I beg forgiveness, Angel. You know as well as I, He would grant it.”

Castiel opens one of the folds to produce a small clay pot. He pours a small amount of the liquid onto Judas’s tongue. The traitor cries all the more. “Thank you, neighbor. Your secret is safe with me.” 

“Do you know the location of the Righteous Man?”

Judas’s eyes narrow, the creases in his brow deepen. “The one who is to stop it all?”

Castiel nods.

“I have heard of his arrival, but you are on the wrong side of Hell, Angel. Here, the souls are destined to be tortured for all eternity with no respite. On the other side, they keep the souls who are being prepared.”

Castiel narrows his eyes as he places more water in Judas’s mouth. “Prepared for what?”

“Torture. Those souls are being trained to work over here.”

Castiel breathes in deeply as he stands. “They are being made into demons.”

“I believe that is the ultimate goal, Angel. Thank you for showing mercy. You must be in high favor with the Son.”

Castiel glances to the side before he nods and continues walking.

The Angel walks on for days in the desolate nothingness. He can hear or see nothing, and a feeling close to panic rises in his grace. He must find the righteous man before he sheds blood. Castiel feels something trace along the feathers of one of his wings that should be invisible on this plane, and he draws his blade. He looks down to see how his visage has changed from that of his true vessel to an undescriptive angel, a wavelength of grace. His feelings of curiosity are held back by the feeling of fear.

“Calm yourself brother, you are in no danger from me.”

Castiel recognizes the voice, and his grace becomes cold and defensive. He stands as tall as his visage will allow.

“You are not my brother, Lucifer.”

The cage is a lonely place, sitting in the middle of Hell, surrounded by nothing above, below, or beside it. It is miniscule, a torturous device all on its own.

The Morningstar laughs, a mirthless sound that chills Castiel to his core. He draws his grace tighter into the protection of the sigils. The beautiful archangel looks up and points what could be translated as a forefinger up toward the firmament.

“They’re getting there you know, my demons? They’re going to get me topside.”

Lucifer makes what Castiel would consider an exasperated expression when the Seraph fails to understand Lucifer’s meaning.

“To rise, brother, to earth.”

“Not as long as I am standing, _brother_.”

“Yeah, about that, who are you anyway, there’s so much Echonian shit on you even I can’t tell which angel you are. Gabe?”

Castiel tilts his head. “I am no one.”

“Well, you got no personality, that’s for sure. It’s been millennia of nothing and the first being I get to talk to is you. Just my luck.”

Castiel fills his visage with air and then lets it out in the semblance of a breath. “Are you not tired, Lucifer, of trying, of holding out hope for something that will never come to fruition?”

“Oh, it will little brother, it will. Why are you here?”

“I am on a mission.”

Lucifer raises all of his eyes to the heavens. “Duh. What mission? Maybe I can help you.” At an attempt in a laissez faire attitude, Lucifer leans against the bars and regards Castiel with only half of his eyes.

Castiel lowers his head, a slight smile apparent on his lips. “You are called by humanity as ‘the great deceiver’ for a reason, Lucifer. I shall not be tricked by you. You perverted humanity because you are nothing but a petulant child who could not respect Father’s wishes. I am certain you feel it was because you loved Father too much, or perhaps because you have the Mark, but I assure you brother, it is only because you are the least of us.”

Lucifer rages against the bars and all of his many eyes burn red. Castiel stands his ground, confident in the cage’s warding.

“How dare you, you are nothing! When I am freed from this prison, I will kill you slowly, you will feel me all throughout your grace, you will be filled with me for as long as your lifeforce can withstand it. So, enjoy your freedom Angel.”

With a head tilt and a smirk, the Angel nods. “Good luck, brother.”

The Angel continues his journey, something filling his grace that gives him a renewed sense of vigor.

*******

Dean looks to his friend, slack jawed. “That’s uh, fucking impressive, Cas.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, which are folded on the table. “I believe that particular interaction was removed during one of my fine tunings.”

Chuck nods. “Oh yeah, sure. Uh, when they took you back to Heaven’s secret lab after the whole ‘bonding with Dean’ thing, they found that and removed it.”

“Why?” Cas asks, timid.

Dean falters at Cas’s sudden lack of confidence.

“Uh, okay, I think because they were…”

“Jealous.” Dean interrupts.

And there goes the hand again. Dean tries to hide his smile as he feels Cas slightly squeeze his knee. He brings his mug up to his lips. Chuck just shakes his head at him again.

“Yeah, that.”

“But why would any angel be jealous of _me_? I was always the failure, the story that was told to keep other angels in line.”

“Not true, son, not at all. You’ve been on earth long enough to see what jealously can do to people.”

Cas nods. “Yes, I suppose that is true.”

*******

The Angel Castiel walks for months before reaching the edge of the other side of Hell. The side for preparing souls to torture. Castiel can feel the hopelessness in the atmosphere, he almost chokes on it. It presents as a type of fog that Castiel struggles to breathe through. He first stumbles upon a demon named Aristede training a new cadet.

“That’s right, choose your weapon carefully.”

The newly recruited soul was a young woman, her soul dimmed by its experiences in Hell already. A murky, milky substance swirled inside her soul, blocking its light, encompassing. She outstretches her fingers over the table, seemingly to select her weapon. Castiel can feel her hesitation however, she is not scared, she doesn’t want to do this. Castiel watches as she looks over at the soul on her rack.

“Please, please, please, oh God… I didn’t think this would really happen.” The soul begins to cry, great big tears that fall from his face onto the tile floor, making a slight ‘splash’ sound. The girl shakes, her fingers unable to pick a weapon.

Aristede’s upper lip curls and he turns the girl around by her red hair violently, forcefully.

“If you’re not ready, you can always go back on the rack.”

“No, no, I’m…”

Castiel approaches them silently and plunges his blade through Aristede’s back, causing the demon’s form to fill with red electricity, and then he disappears. The girl turns to him in fear, her eyes wide, and holding a knife in front of her. Castiel shakes his head slowly and she replaces it onto the table.

The angel cuts the other soul off the rack and regards them both, head turned to the side. He once more looks like his vessel and he is attempting to look kind.

“You’re an angel.” The soul on the table blubbers out.

“Can you save us?” The girl asks, a note of hope in her voice that breaks Castiel a bit.

His brow furrows, his nostrils flare, and he feels a ping of something behind his eyes. “I am so sorry, I cannot.”

“But you’re an angel.”

Castiel nods. “And I wish I could tell you that we an infallible species, capable of any and everything, but we are not. I am here on a very specific mission, and killing the demon went beyond it. I do not have the power to bring you from the pit.”

“What good was rescuing us then?”

Castiel purses his lips and looks to the tile floor below him, crimson with dried blood, and red where tears and sweat began to wash it away.

“I do not know. There is another side to Hell, although I do not know if you will find it any more desirable. You can run, hide. The demons have been… distracted, you may have a chance.”

They both nod, eyes bloodshot, and they run.

*******

Dean notices as Cas closes his eyes, seemingly against the memories, and Dean puts one of his hands on top of Cas’s. Fuck whatever Chuck thinks.

Cas smiles sadly at him, his eyes brimming with tears.

As they continue Cas’s greatest hits, Dean realizes more and more he doesn’t deserve the angel, and his self-doubt causes him to begin to lift his hand. He is stopped when Cas turns his palm upwards and laces Dean’s fingers with his own. Dean’s heart all but stops, and he closes his finger’s around Cas’s.

Fuck. They’re _holding hands_. Wasn’t this like first base or something? In front of _God_? Dean begins to panic a little as he feels sweat start to gather on his forehead and under his collar. That feeling is soon replaced by a cooling sensation and Dean realizes Cas’s is sharing his grace with him, calming him. His sweat magically evaporates, and he once more finds his normal breathing pattern. He really didn’t fucking deserve the angel.

Okay, but the holding hands thing meant something right? It had to; they’d never done this before. He squeezed Cas’s hand even tighter, which the angel took as an encouragement to continue.

*******

“Once your soul has been here long enough Dean, you will not require use of your hands.”

The angel’s grace drew in tightly at the sound of the demon know as Alistair. Castiel noted how his voice was the equivalent of human mucus, smooth, but unpleasant. He immediately disliked how the demon said the name of the Righteous Man. A possessiveness readily attached itself to his grace as he took in the brightness of Dean’s soul. It was a beautiful thing, as bright as any star, and Castiel felt an unknown emotion swell in the middle of his grace, flowing throughout his entire form. It presented as a type of red, a color never before seen or felt by any angel. It frightened Castiel, but one more look at the man’s soul steeled his grace.

Dean resolutely picked up a knife, and Castiel could easily discern this was not the man’s first time as torturer. He looked to the side and wondered how his soul could remain so bright. He wished he could have seen it before the taint of hell.

Dean’s upper lip wobbles slightly as he looks at the soul on his rack in front of him. The soul is a middle-aged man, pleas being uttered from thin lips.

“I only wanted the money, I didn’t do anything to anybody.” He begins to cry and Castiel watches with interest as Dean’s lip settles and his nostrils flare minutely.

“Don’t matter.”

Dean takes the knife and begins to make small incisions all over the man, causing the soul to scream out in pain and beg for mercy.

“Should’ve thought of that before taking that deal.”

“I just wanted the money!” He yells as Dean makes more small cuts over the man’s torso.

Alistair smiles in a particularly disturbing fashion, a motion that only takes half of his mouth, in a sick prevision of a snarl.

“Good job Dean-o. I am going to check on my other recruits, and you finish with him, hum?”

As soon as the demon is out of sight, Dean braces his palms against the table and leans into it.

“I’m sorry man, I really am, but…”

“Either you or me, huh?”

Dean nods sadly as he goes to change instruments.

Castiel approaches him carefully, the man on the table eyeing him warily. Dean turns around and almost impales him with the knife. His eyes widen in realization, and Castiel notices his eyes are the same color of the best feelings grace can produce when they combine.

“Dean Winchester, I am Castiel, I am here to raise you from the pit of despair.”

Dean chuckles. “Sure you are feathers. You some kind of new torture program? I mean, gotta admit, pretty easy on the eyes, but, other than that…” Dean clicks his tongue, tries to hide the shake in his hand, but is unsuccessful.

Castiel lays a steady hand on his, and Dean turns quickly to stab him with the blade in the chest. Castiel removes it and places it on the table behind him.

“Dean, you are the Righteous Man, and I am here as an emissary of Heaven to bring you out of Hell.”

“I’ll go if he doesn’t want to.”

Castiel sighs at the man on the table and puts two fingers to his forehead. The man falls asleep instantly.

“Souls can’t sleep. You kill him or something?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I am an angel; we know a few things about souls.” He tries to smile warmly.

“Well, that whole thing about the Righteous Man shit, don’t believe you there, pal, I’m uh…” Dean gestures to the rack in front of him “about as fucking far from righteous as you’re gonna get. So uh, you may want to start looking for the right guy.”

Castiel had not planned on the soul he was to save arguing with him. “I understand your lack of faith, Dean. I must tell you, this does not occur often. Angels do not typically save souls from Hell, however, you are an exception.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, whatever, I uh, don’t deserve to be saved, so why don’t you just fuck off, Cas?”

Castiel squints at the nickname, but readily accepts it. He grabs Dean’s wrist and the man immediately snatches his wrist back.

“No. You take me, Sammy goes back to being dead, no.”

Castiel can see the pain in Dean’s eyes, the tears there threatening to escape. He feels a type of pull to Dean’s soul as a warmth radiated throughout at the mention of his brother.

“Your brother will remain alive, Dean. I promise.”

Dean laughs coldly. “Yeah, I’m not all about miracles, so, pass.”

“You are very stubborn.”

Dean allows a type of smile to from at the right side of his mouth. “Yeah, should’ve been my middle name.”

“An adjective would be a very odd middle name.”

The smile grows from there, turning into a full one, prompting a slight one from Cas as well.

“Well, thanks for the distraction, from you know, literal Hell, but uh, I ain’t going.”

“I have no choice, Dean.”

Castiel grabs his wrist once more and Dean breaks his grip and takes on a fighting stance. “I ain’t going Cas. I don’t deserve to be saved.”

Cas risks detection and breaks the bindings surrounding his form. His wings unfurl from his visage and Dean’s eyes grow wide once more.

“Still ain’t going man.”

Cas moves to behind Dean quickly, and wraps his arms around the man, each hand laying on the upper part of one of Dean’s arms. Dean resists violently at first, twisting and turning to break his hold, but Castiel remains stoic, and Dean eventually settles into him, his head resting on the angel’s shoulder, tears streaming down his face.

Castiel can feel the demons approach and his eyes look heavenward. “We have been detected.”

Castiel crouches, taking Dean with him and uses the propulsion to take flight, his wings flapping every so often. His flight is effortless, streamlined, and perfect. He feels the hordes of Hell at his feet and wills himself to go faster.

He hears Dean call his name as a demon approaches their side. Castiel lets go of one of Dean’s arms to draw his blade and smite the demon. The demon fights back, otherworldly teeth bared, and nipping at Castiel’s feathers. He manages to snag one in-between his teeth, causing a scream to erupt from Castiel’s lips. The pain seared white-hot through his grace and his true vessel’s handprint is seared onto Dean’s bicep. Castiel plunges the blade deeply into the demon’s chest, reveling in the beast’s cry.

Castiel replaces the blade, grips Dean tightly once more, and continues his flight from Hell. Once they break the surface, Castiel cries:

“Dean Winchester is saved!”

*******

Holy fucking shit. Dean looks to his best friend, who in a rare role reversal, avoids his gaze. Dean’s throat feels dry and full of cotton. He needs some air or something. But his hand is still being held by the angel who ripped his stubborn ass of hell and he may just have had his entire worldview upended. He holds that angel’s hand as if his life depended on it.

Chuck’s face scrunches up in mock thought and he takes the pencil from behind his ear and begins to chew on the eraser slightly.

“Huh. Okay, so the flirting in Hell should’ve given me a clue as to this story’s trajectory, but it just got erased from you, from him, that I guess I kinda just erased it all.”

Chuck replaces the pencil and totally ignores the existential crises happening in front of him.

Dean lowers his voice to a whisper, as if that would do any good keeping Chuck from hearing him. “Did you remember that, Cas?”

Castiel looks to him and shakes his head slightly. “I remembered most when we first met, however, after I was taken back to heaven…”

Dean nods, “They took it out of you.” He pauses. “What about me?”

Cas looks up to a fabricated ceiling. “I was under instruction to remove the memories you would have of me in hell.”

“Why?”

Cas purses his lips and offers Dean a sad smile. “I suppose Zachariah was concerned you would become attached to me, and with my history…”

Dean allows a slight laugh to escape his nose. He works valiantly against the tears threatening to prick his eyes. He squeezes Cas’s hand. “We showed him, huh?”

Chuck lets out an exasperated sigh. “I just don’t get it. We need to go back to the story, cause this is way more intense than it ever should have been. I’m trying to pinpoint the exact moment it turned into…” Chuck removes the pencil once more and uses it to gesticulate between angel and hunter “this. Readers are gonna love that.”

*******

Castiel carried the soul of Dean Winchester to the grave his brother so lovingly and despairingly prepared. He opens up the wooden box and reunites body and soul. His true form is a hinderance on this plane, and he begins to carefully rebuild the body entrusted in his care.

He detects every flaw in the physical body and sets it right. He counts the freckles and makes sure they match those of the soul. He regards each molecule that makes up Dean Winchester and ensures they are perfect. Try as he might, however, the handprint transferred from soul to body and could not be healed. The grace was burned into the very fabric of his existence. The angel sits back on his haunches, thinking. His instruction had been clear – save and rebuild the righteous man to perfection. But to him, Dean Winchester would have been perfect even with the callouses, the propensity to acid reflux, the scars he had gotten from years of saving humanity.

Castiel places a hand on the man’s forehead and regrettably erases the memories the two of them shared in Hell. Castiel would have preferred the man know how strong he is. He replaces the lid loosely, covers the grave back with dirt, and steps back. He watches silently, invisibly, with what would be bated breath as the Righteous Man claws his way out of the box. He breathes the equivalent of a sigh of relief as Dean emerges, shaken, confused, and lost.

Castiel wishes to reach out to him, to explain, but he is without a vessel. He hopes Dean can hear him in his true form, so he can explain to him just how important he is.

*******

Chuck presses the period key with a flourish. “And that is the end of chapter one.” He looks so self-satisfied, Dean wants to punch him again, and he smiles slightly as the squeeze that follows his thought.

“Great. Think we can get a break between chapters?”

Chuck regards him, pouts his lips, shrugs, and says, “Why not?”

Castiel releases Dean’s hand and stands up, stretching legs that still don’t need to be stretched. Dean follows suit. He nudges Cas, indicating the angel should follow him outside.

“Yes, Dean?” He inquires once they are outside, they both know it is only an illusion, but it does offer a different air.

“Fuck, man.” Dean pulls him into a tight embrace and Cas readily reciprocates.

“I wished for you never to hear any of this. I am sorry Chuck brought you in. I was just afraid you were going to do…”

Dean smirks as he pulls away. “Something stupid?”

Cas inclines his head and nods. “Yes.”

“I would’ve Cas. Done something stupid. You and Sammy always bring out the stupid in me.”

“Is that a compliment?”

Dean shakes his head fondly at the angel’s mock confusion. “It’s the truth. How long did you look for me down there, man?”

Castiel looks at a spot beyond Dean’s right shoulder. It is a store, or would be if it were real, that boasts the ‘world’s best boiled peanuts’ and Cas wonders what type of statement Chuck is making with that choice. He answers his best friend’s question very quietly, as if it were a sacred admission: “Thirty-five Hell years.”

Dean can feel his stomach sink. He grabs Cas again. He always thought Cas just reached in there and yanked him out, and that was that, an action that took mere seconds. Cas talks into his shoulder:

“I would’ve followed immediately, Dean, however, I had to contact Jimmy.”

Dean takes a risk and threads his hand in Cas’s hair. Cas’s body responds slowly at first, but he soon understands where Dean is taking this and he grips Dean’s back tighter.

A million things run through Dean’s mind to say. _By the end of Chuck’s stupid book, I’m probably gonna fall in love with you. I love you so fucking much, Cas. You were the beginning of my second existence. I miss that handprint so fucking much, you have no idea. I sometimes think about you coming into my room after I go to bed, and I think about all the things we can do to each other. I want to do sappy shit with you. You are so my Huckleberry. I kinda die inside whenever you die. I wish you hadn’t made that stupid fucking deal because I want to make you so happy every day for the rest of my life your grace explodes. I want us to get a house one day on some beach and Sam and Eileen can come by for their vacations. I want to see if you’re that tan everywhere._ But he decides on none of those as he backs up from their embrace.

Dean looks at his shoes for a moment. “So uh, you know it’s true, right?”

Dean looks up just enough to see Cas’s raised brow. “You are easy on the eyes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! I would LOVE to hear from y'all!! Kudos are very appreciated as well! Thank y'all so much!!


	3. Lazarus Rising, Take Two!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas continue to make realizations about one another, and Cas recounts his version of "Lazarus Rising", plus a beach house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so, so much for the comments, kudos, and subscriptions! They mean so much to me as the author of this tale. I seriously cannot thank y'all enough for choosing to read this story. 
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, or any other TV Show, Book, Movie, Website, Webpage, Song, and/or app mentioned in this tale. 
> 
> This chapter begins the retelling of the episodes intermingled with Dean and Cas's current budding relationship. This chapter goes over 4.01, and hopefully I will be able to have the next chapter up within a couple days. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Anxiety and Grief
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Cass leans back against the facsimile of the brick wall that makes up the exterior of Chuck’s bar. Dean can feel Cas take in a breath and holds his own until the angel releases it. He wasn’t usually on this end of things. He was used to his never-fail smile dropping panties (and on occasion when he thought no one would know, boxers) all over the continental U.S. He begins to second guess himself, thinking Cas only held his hand because he felt Dean needed the comfort, and fuck that.

“Look, man, if…”

Cas stops him by placing his hands with his smooth, long fingers on either side of Dean’s face.

“When I reunited your soul to your body, your body was mangled beyond recognition. Your innards were shredded, your entrails all but removed. I carefully rebuilt you, molecule by molecule, atom by atom. The time it took caused my true form to lay waste to the nature surrounding me.”

Dean closes his eyes as he remembers the state of the trees surrounding his grave in Pontiac, Illinois.

“And yet, Dean Winchester, I still found you beautiful.”

And fuck it all, Dean was so incredibly taken by that. He opens his eyes to stare into those of his best friend, an action they were very familiar with.

Dean is filled with a renewed sense of confidence, and he thinks, for a blessed moment, Cas feels the same way.

“Eh, you just have a crush on my soul.”

Cas removes his hands and smirks. “Perhaps.”

Dean moves to stand by Cas and bends his knee to rest his foot flush against the building. He crosses his arms and looks towards the perfect falsity of the sky.

“What are we gonna do, Angel?”

“If you are asking in general, I doubt we have time to broach that subject.”

Dean laughs slightly as air escapes his nostrils. “I guess I kinda mean about _us_ , Cas. I mean if you want…”

Dean can see Cas shake his head fondly in his peripheral vision. “I would very much like an _us_ , Dean.”

“I uh, I know I ain’t given you much reason to think I want this, but fuck man, I do.”

“Why do you say that, Dean? Because you have flirted with countless women in front of me?”

Dean lowers his head and licks his bottom lip. “Well, that, and how I treat you sometimes.”

“Ah.” Castiel focuses on the storefront in front of them. “I always assumed it was because you knew I would come back.”

“It ain’t right, man. It’s sick.”

“Perhaps it is not the healthiest way to engage in a relationship.”

Dean laughs. “I’ll work on it, man.”

“I will also work on the things I can do better, Dean.”

Dean uncrosses his arms in order to grab Cas’s hand. “But what if you get happy?”

Cas smiles sadly, a wistful thing. “As you know, Dean, our lives bring with them great uncertainty. Although your affection makes my existence far better, I cannot be happy until you and Sam are safe.”

“Which means, Chuck.”

“Yes.”

“We just went out for beer.”

“I always knew your beer habit would be our end.”

Dean looks over to Cas and sees a smirk he easily mirrors.

“All right, smart ass.”

They both look in front of them, hands still entwined.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Would you have admitted what you did today had we still been at home?”

Dean realizes he didn’t really _admit_ to anything, there was no declaration of love, no promise of a future, just a passing compliment about looks, and a question. Dean marvels at how well the angel understands him. He contemplates the answer to Cas’s question. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have. He probably would’ve kept stealing glances and finding excuses for hugs that always lasted just a little too long.

“I uh, I guess I probably wouldn’t have.”

“May I ask what changed here?”

Dean went through the events of the last few hours with Chuck, trying to pinpoint a moment, just like Chuck was trying to do.

“Uh, yeah, okay. Part of it was hearing your side of things, you know? You’re always kinda quiet and I’ve been such an asshole throughout the years I’ve never cared to ask. You’re a badass, and I know that, but that whole Hell thing?”

Dean swallows. “Fucking hot, Cas.”

“Is there a pun in there somewhere?”

Dean shakes his head at his best friend, a small smile forming on his lips. “Such a smartass. And uh, when you gripped my knee, I never wanted you to let go. Fuck, I wanted you to hold me, and that scared the shit outta me honestly because it seemed like some fucking lifetime movie and I ain’t like that, not normally. And then when you grabbed my hand?”

Cas looks at him as he squeezes the hand he’s currently holding.

“Yeah that. I mean, do you feel it too?”

Cas smiles with his eyes as he looks to Dean, green eyes he has found a home in for over a decade.

“The electricity that runs from your soul to my grace, setting it alight?”

Dean clears his throat. “Uh, yeah, that.”

Cas looks to his shoes. “Yes, Dean, I feel it.”

“Do you think we should go back, before Chuck’s douche face comes out here?”

Cas looks heavenward, a motion Dean feels must be second nature. “I suppose we should. Are you comfortable maintaining the physical contact?”

Dean exhales sharply, impressed and awed by his friend’s intuition regarding him. “Oh hell yeah.”

They open the glass doors and walk into the bar, which is no longer a bar.

*******

“What the fuck?” Dean mutters as he lets go of Cas’s hand to walk around the house, a modest size dwelling with an open floor plan. Chuck is sitting on one of the chairs facing a couch, a large TV behind him. On either side of the TV are two picture windows, each looking out onto a beach. Dean swallows, pissed at Chuck for reading his mind. Tears sting his eyes, knowing this is only an illusion of something they can never have. He plops onto the couch, Cas cautiously taking his place beside him. Dean feels the distance is too much, and he grabs the angel’s hand, pulling him towards him.

“Oh yeah.” Chuck begins in a manner so nonchalant Dean wants to punch him, again. “This is the house the two of your alters shared in another Universe. I visited them sometimes, I mean as Chuck. They were interesting.” Chuck shrugs. “I thought you guys might more be more comfortable here.” He smiles like he is doing them a favor. Dean is only able to keep his cool because Cas’s hand is in his.

“Okay.” Chuck claps his hands together and rubs them. He picks his laptop up off the table, crosses his legs underneath him, and sets to type. “Lazarus Rising, take two.”

*******

Castiel surveys the damage done by his true form as Dean feels the sunlight on his face. The angel wonders what sunlight must feel like to a human. He turns his faces to the star, the closet ones the humans have. Castiel has seen many stars in his existence, saw some burn out, witnessed black holes, felt the energy radiating off the celestial bodies. But when he saw Dean relishing the warmth on his skin, the blinding light on his beautiful face, Castiel knew the star was all the more important because Dean Winchester allowed it to shine on his face.

The Seraph watches with interest as Dean surveys the damage as well, fear radiating off the Righteous Man. Castiel’s grace mirrors his emotions, the angel’s grace now connected to the man’s soul via a handprint.

Castiel follows Dean as he enters a gas station. The angel’s heads tilt to the side as Dean gulps water. Castiel feels a moment of guilt as he realizes he did not provide Dean with water as the man must surely be parched. The angel watches as Dean makes his way to a mirror. The man lifts his shirt, seemingly to inspect the wounds that are no longer there. He then goes to lift the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the handprint. Castiel can once more feel his fear, and he wishes to quell it. Dean takes food, water, and a copy of a magazine Castiel doesn’t fully understand. He squints a few of his eyes and notices it is titled “Busty Asian Beauties.” If an angel had the ability to sigh in their true form, Castiel would have taken the opportunity to do so. It is when Dean reaches the cash register that Castiel realizes he can try to communicate with Dean through the television and radio as he did with Jimmy.

Castiel focuses his energy on the waves and says in his true angelic form, “Dean Winchester, you are the Righteous Man, do not fear for you have been chosen.”

Dean does not seem to understand as the fear radiates from his soul in waves. Castiel feels it firmly in his grace, a sinking feeling that causes him to want to fight, an emotion sent from the hunter, who rarely chooses flight. Dean begins to pour salt along the window casing, and Castiel tries once more, steeling his grace.

“I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, and I am the one who brought your soul forth from Hell, do not fear for you are the Righteous Man.”

Castiel’s voice causes the glass in the station to burst, raining shards on Dean. Castiel attempts to rush to him to heal his wounds, but as his soul is once more covered by the man’s body and everything has been completely healed, Castiel cannot heal him. He winces slightly as the work he completed so beautifully was ruined so soon by him. Castiel returns to Heaven, attempting to find a solution to talk to Dean, as his vessel was not quite ready, although the time was nigh.

*******

“Okay, yeah, that’s good. I think the audience will like it from that perspective.”

Dean looks at him with an absolutely ‘over it’ face. “Yeah, fun times.”

“You know, I could send you back, Dean.” Chuck smiles in a way that does not reach his eyes. It is unsettling, and he can feel Cas’s leg stiffen against his own.

“Father, please do not. I am sure my story will be better given if Dean is by my side.”

Chuck sighs and focuses on his son. “Sure.”

Dean decides to do something stupid. “What about Sammy?”

Chuck narrows his eyes. “What about him?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “He’s gonna be wondering where we are. We only went out for beer.”

“Oh.” Chuck shakes his head minutely and focuses once more on his laptop. “No time has passed on earth. Sam doesn’t know you’ve been gone practically a whole day.”

Dean scoffs. “You stopped the earth spinning so you could get Cas’s story?”

“Yeah.” Chuck puts his hands over the keys. “Okay, heaven and the physic are next.”

*******

The angel Castiel resided in his favorite Heaven, sitting on a park bench, smiling kindly on the soul of the man who generated it. He wondered what the Heaven of Dean Winchester would look like. He imagined it would contain many memories of his brother. Castiel calls to mind the words of the Son, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13 KJV). He feels a presence beside him and looks up to see his brother looking ahead of him.

“I fear your sentiment will one day be your detriment, Castiel.”

“I do not understand, brother.”

Michael looks down to him, his eyes just missing the mark of kindness. “You have rescued my sword from the throes of Hell, I came to thank you.”

“Your appreciation is noted, brother.” Castiel returns his gaze forward, hiding the red blooming in his grace.

With a nod of one of his heads, Michael flies away.

Castiel feels a pull, strong, and demanding.

_“I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.”_

Castiel’s faces look towards the sky created for the man who drowned in a bathtub. His grace is held taunt by an invisible force. He speaks to the voice commanding him.

_“Turn back, I cannot appear to you, my name is Castiel, and I am not a being you can look upon, not like this.”_

The voice responds, powerful, commanding: “ _Castiel? No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy.”_

_“No, this is not a matter of being scared. Human, turn back now!”_

_“I conjure and command you, show me your face.”_

_“No!”_

Castiel fights the voice, who he now knows as Pamela Barnes, a strong psychic who has the ability to manipulate him on the plane in which she is invoking him.

_“I almost got it._

_I command you, show me your face!_

_Show me your face now!”_

Castiel is no longer able to fight the woman, as her pull and command is too strong. His true form is revealed to her, and he can feel her pain as his celestial intent that was never intended for human eyes, burns her eyes out, taking her vision. As the pain stops her invocation, Castiel slumps on the bench, exhausted, grace pulled in all directions. His grace reassembles, and Castiel feels as despair weaves throughout his grace, causing a small hailstorm in Providence, Rhode Island.

*******

“Good, good. That shows your side of things, makes you sympathetic.”

Cas almost folds in on himself, and Dean’s hand immediately finds his back. “It’s okay, buddy.”

Chuck grimaces at them. “The ‘buddy’ thing is kinda weird, Dean.”

Dean raises a finger towards Chuck, “Shut up.”

Cas’s eyes go wild as he looks to Dean. “Stupid.”

Chuck, however, simply shrugs.

“I’m gonna make us some coffee, Cas, it helps. And uh, you may enjoy it.”

Chuck pipes up, “Ooh, I’d like cream and two sugars in mine, Dean, you’ll find my mug on the counter next to the pot.”

Dean is just about to tell him what he can do with the mug when he gets a pleading look from Cas. So, he just rolls his eyes and heads towards the kitchen area.

*******

Castiel’s many eyes look around the pristine white room until his eyes land on Zachariah, sitting behind his desk.

“You accomplished your task, Castiel.”

The angel nods, neither giving nor taking anything.

“Have you established contact with the Righteous Man?”

“I made an attempt, however, he is unable to ascertain my voice.”

Zachariah nods one of heads, a slight gesture that unnerves Castiel slightly. He stands taller and slightly unfurls his wings.

“You will make another attempt. What is the status on your vessel?”

“I believe he will be ready tonight.”

“You are too patient with him, Castiel.”

“He has a family, Zachariah, he will be ripped from them, it is not a decision he will take lightly. He believes in me, and is receptive, he simply needed time.”

Zachariah stands, his grace flowing with impatience. “You know how you get a vessel, Castiel? You say, ‘I am an angel of the Lord, and I require your services.’ And they say yes, and then, bam, you got a vessel. You do not care if they have a family, brother. They are nothing, humanity is nothing, and you are not to bow to them, do you understand?”

Castiel makes no concession as he stands proudly. He neither agrees nor disagrees, and he can feel the patience of the superior angel wearing thin.

“Attempt to make contact once more, and then get your vessel. Dean Winchester is your only objective. Your vessel matters not expect for the purpose for which he was born.”

*******

Dean hands Cas a mug and then puts Chuck’s ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mug on the coffee table in front of him. He goes back to the kitchen peninsula to get his own and then resumes his seat next to Cas.

“Zachariah was such a dick.” Dean chuckles and Cas looks at him oddly. “When we got that pearl thing and Dad came back for like a day, we got to kill him again.”

Cas’s eyebrow raises and Dean definitely leaves out the part where his angel was not his angel in that reality. And although Dean did enjoy seeing John and was glad the man could be something besides an obsessed bastard for even a day, he’d rather have Cas for a lifetime. And fuck, if he wasn’t somewhat ashamed to admit that.

Chuck takes a long sip of his coffee, licks his lips, and makes an ‘ahh’ noise. Dean looks at him disgustedly.

*******

Castiel returns to earth in his true form, looking for the Righteous Man. He finds him asleep in a hotel, alone. He once more tries to make contact with the television and radio. He lowers his voice, hoping the decibel level will be more agreeable to the hunter’s ears. His hopes are quashed when Dean covers his ears. The windows and the mirror on the ceiling shatter, and Castiel worries once more for Dean’s safety. An older man comes in, and Castiel leaves.

Unbeknownst to the Seraph, Zachariah is on earth also. The leader secured a vessel and sensed a presence of demons in the town in which the Righteous Man was raised. The angel enters the diner, proud, strong, and sure. He revels in the demon’s cries as he smites them one by one, leaving one alive to tell her story to one Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood.

*******

“Wait, Zach killed the diner demons?”

Chuck nods, “Yeah. Wait you thought it was Cas?”

Dean nods.

“Oh yeah, no. Uh, Cas wouldn’t have left that demon to suffer like that. Not then anyway.”

Castiel sips at his coffee, a peculiar look on his face. Dean finds it absolutely adorable.

“So, what, Zach was leaving a message for Sam?”

Chuck sighs. “I guess. He was a loose cannon, all righteous. It was annoying.” Chuck claps his hands and rubs them together again before developing a type of self-satisfied and smug grin, “All right, my favorite part.”

*******

Castiel feels the summoning deep within his grace. It is a supernatural pull that cannot be dismissed. His grace begins to pull apart, trying to appear at the place he is being summoned. Pontiac, Illinois in a barn. The coincidence doesn’t baffle him as it would most. He knows he can no longer avoid entering his vessel. With what would be a heavy heart, he seeks out Jimmy.

“Yes.”

Castiel streams his grace to fill the vessel known as Jimmy Novak. The man’s kindness and devotion flooded Castiel immediately, and the soul powered his grace, combining to create an even more powerful force than the angel would have had normally. Castiel begins to examine his new form, one he was familiar with in Hell, but with human constraints. He moved his hands, allowing the appendages to expand and contract into his palm. He moves his head back and forth, becoming accustomed to the feeling, the weight of it. He notices the tightness on his neck, and he loosens the fabric constricting it.

“Daddy?”

Castiel’s grace expands within his limited form at Claire’s voice. He can feel Jimmy’s soul yearn and his grace reacts in a sickening manner, a pull, almost like an invocation, but not supernatural. He does not know much about humanity, but the limited knowledge he does have suggests they require finality. He tries to provide it to the child with the words:

“I am not your father.”

The summoning brings him to an abandoned building. He stands outside of it, his angelic nature not yet knowing how to remain fully unbridled causing wind and lightning. The doors of the building swing open, allowing Castiel entrance. The lights explode above him, and he looks up curiously. The sigils painted above, below, and around him are innumerable, and he is impressed by both their accuracy and intensity. 

The older man from the motel and Dean shoot at him. Castiel continues advancing, as he is unfazed by the rounds. He simply looks at them more interestedly. He watches as they share looks, and Dean grabs an ancient knife. Castiel immediately recognizes it, and he is mildly impressed.

“Who are you?”

Castiel laments the man could not remember their time in Hell, the moments they shared, the connection. He was sure the other man would feel it through the handprint, but Dean seems far away, even though he is so close. Castiel decides to act as if they are meeting for the first time, because for Dean, they are.

“I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

Dean stabs him with the knife. Castiel almost sighs, as this has already played out in Hell. Dean was stubborn and disbelieving in and out of the pit. Castiel looks down at the knife, admires its craftmanship for but a moment, pulls it from his chest, mentally apologizes to Jimmy, and drops the knife to the floor. He senses the older man’s attack, grabs his weapon, spins him around, and puts him to sleep. He looks once more to his charge.

“We need to talk, Dean. Alone.”

Castiel wanders over to the table the duo sat up and absent-mindedly thumbs through a copy of the Bible. A very old copy Castiel is impressed they have. He feels Dean’s eyes on him as the hunter crouches over the older man, inspecting him. Castiel feels the now familiar pull, the emotion of the man’s soul weighing down on him. It is different in a vessel, however, and it is almost as if it requires a physical connection. Castiel regards him.

“Your friend’s alive.”

Dean’s anger barely subsides. “Who are you?”

The angel answers simply, willing the man to simply _believe_. “Castiel.”

Dean looks angry in a different way. Castiel searches for the feeling, is it _exasperation_?

“Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?”

Again, Castiel offers the simplicity of the truth. “I am an angel of the Lord.”

The man’s lack of faith weighs on Castiel like a wet blanket. He can feel the disbelief, the pain that lies just below the man’s surface, and his grace undulates with it.

“Get the hell outta here. There’s no such thing.”

If Castiel knew how to properly control the emotions of his vessel, his face would display sadness, but instead he looks stoic, like a statue. At this point, in a way, he is.

“This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.” Castiel speaks as if he knew Dean before, because he did. The man had no faith in him in Hell, even though he knew what he was and saw for himself. However, it wasn’t Castiel he didn’t have faith in, it was himself. On earth, it is both, and Castiel hopes to remedy at least one of those.

He pulls out his wings, which in a vessel display as two wings, one on either side. They are only visible as a shadow on the wall behind him. Regardless of their limitation, the stretch feels good and Castiel revels in it before he pulls them back in.

He can feel Dean’s disbelief change into something else, something much more dangerous.

“Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes.”

Castiel’s visage remains unchanging, but his grace is consumed by guilt. He wishes for Dean to see him as he is, not as some supernatural monster.

“I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that.”

Dean’s face once more changes to disbelief, and Castiel almost feels relieved.

“You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?”

Castiel nods, an action that translates to his human form.

“Buddy, next time, lower the volume.”

Castiel internally winces, knowing his actions caused humanity pain, especially the perfect specimen of humanity standing in front of him.

“That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.”

Castiel truly believed their connection would allow their communication, and his grace was disheartened when he realized he could not.

“And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?”

The implication put on certain words in Dean’s question makes Castiel cringe, again the expression does not come through his vessel, as he is unable to express emotion the way he wishes. He did not understand the ‘tax accountant’ reference, except he thought it might be a human’s occupation. He looks to his vessel and touches the coat.

“This? This is... a vessel.”

Dean’s brow scrunches, and Castiel assumes (correctly) the man is going to say something hurtful.

“You're possessing some poor bastard?”

That was not an implication so much as an accusation and filled Castiel with guilt. He had no desire to take Jimmy from his family, he truly didn’t. But Jimmy was his true vessel, destined for Castiel since the beginning of time, and no matter which way this went, it was inevitable. Which did not prevent the pain associated with the possession, but he tried to use it to alleviate the guilt.

“He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this.”

Jimmy was, in every imaginable way, a devout man. Castiel grew close with him in those two weeks before he went to Hell. He felt his soul with him now, a bright thing that warmed his grace.

“Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?”

Castiel’s grace ached for the man in front of him. He felt a connection to him, a bond, and he had hoped the man felt it too, their connection. Without betraying his eyes his grace reaches for the handprint, hoping to reach the man’s emotions to quell his disbelief. Castiel is unsuccessful however, as he realizes the stubbornness rendered to earth perhaps even more strongly. This time his expression translates to displeasure as Jimmy’s face frowns.

“I told you.”

“Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?”

The overwhelming sense of déjà vu encompassed Castiel as he yearned to tell the man in front of him that he was once more the Righteous Man and he deserved to be saved more than any other soul to exist. He yearned to tell him how beautiful and bright his soul is, to let him know he is good, and even if he weren’t commanded, he would’ve fought both Heaven and Hell to rescue his soul again. But he can’t, so he goes with:

“Good things do happen, Dean.”

“Not in my experience.”

Castiel’s grace folded into itself. A hole seems to appear in his core. He moves closer to Dean in an attempt to fill it, knowing the brightness of the man’s soul should be able to fill any type of darkness. If he had the emotional equivalent of a heart, it would’ve broken. He studies Dean’s face, his eyes, forcing an intense stare, looking, searching for the soul he met in Hell beyond the visage Dean so readily seemed to abuse, without a thought to himself. He sees the spark and his grace settles. He recalls Dean’s words in Hell.

“What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?”

Dean looks uncomfortable, and Castiel knows the answer before Dean speaks.

“Why’d you do it?”

A thousand answers run through Cas’s mind. So many reasons why this man in front of him deserves salvation. But he goes with the answer he was told to give:

“Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.”

*******

“Oh, yeah. End of chapter two.”

Chuck closes his laptop and looks to Dean and Cas who are sitting on the couch with no space between them. He nods and scratches behind his ear.

“I’m sure you guys are tired, so I’m gonna skedaddle. Uh, yeah, see you tomorrow. Or you know, whenever I decide it’s tomorrow.”

With a snap of his fingers, Chuck leaves.

Dean looks to Cas and studies his face. The angel looks tired, purple apparent under his eyes.

“Uh, I’m not sure how the grace failing thing works exactly Cas, but I can cook us some food maybe? The fridge is stocked.”

Cas nods sadly.

“Hey.” Dean runs his hand up and down Cas’s arm and gets the angel to turn to him. “I’m here, Cas, okay. Through it all.”

“He’s not going to stop Dean. I am going to have to relive _everything_.”

“I’ll be right with you, buddy. The whole damn time.”

“I love you for that, Dean, I do. But you have to relive it as well, and I fear…”

Dean’s heart stilled at the word _love_ , but he found himself able to interrupt his angel in order to squash his train of thought.

“I ain’t gonna get mad at you all over again, Cas. Fuck, the way this is going I’m probably going to feel guilty for being mad at you in the first place.” His attempt at humor falls flat.

“I am concerned about that as well.”

“Aww, Cas, man, no, okay? Look, we have nice fake digs, so let’s make the most of it okay? Sammy’s safe, he doesn’t think anything’s happened to us, so he ain’t gonna do nothing stupid.”

Cas smiles, a genuine thing that warms Dean’s heart.

“How about that dinner, yeah?”

*******

Dean wanders through the master bedroom, trying to find something to throw on for bed. He looks at the King-sized bed and narrows his eyes at the pictures on the nightstand. He goes over to them. The first is of him and Cas at what looks like their wedding. They look so fucking happy. Sam and Eileen are in it too, staring at each other sweetly. Dean clears his throat as he feels a familiar prickle behind his eyes.

Another picture is of Cas holding a baby with Dean placing a hand on the baby’s head. Dean’s stomach suddenly feels as if has dropped from his body to the floor below him. A hole aches in his chest. He places the frame back down, positioning it so the picture will be facing the top of the nightstand. Silent sobs rack his frame, producing no tears or noise. Chuck killed these guys just because they weren’t the most entertaining story.

Cas approaches him.

“Dean? I felt your distress, what is it, love?”

Fuck, Dean could not deal with that endearment right now. He motions to the nightstand and Cas picks up the picture. He runs his finger over the picture smiling at the happy family. He opens the frame, removes the picture. He reads the back of the photo. _“Jack’s adoption day.”_ Cas feels tears at the back of his eyes as well.

He holds the picture in his hand, palm up and closes his eyes. The picture evaporates much the same way a ghost does when they pass over. Dean looks at him, in awe. Cas opens his eyes once more to stare straight into Dean’s. Cas places a reassuring hand on Dean’s cheek, and Dean leans into the touch.

“You have had a very trying day. I am going to locate you some clothes in which to sleep.”

Dean vaguely watches as Cas moves around the room, opening drawers. He sees Cas chuckle slightly as he pulls out a worn gray t-shirt and the hot dog pajama pants Dean was so fond of. He places them next to Dean and kneels in front of him.

“Get some rest, Dean. If you cannot fall asleep, pray to me.”

“And you’ll knock me out?”

Cas smiles sweetly as he brushes back Dean’s hair with his hand. Dean leans into it again, and he hopes he’s as good at comforting Cas as Cas is at comforting him. He realizes how much easier it is here, with no one to judge, and the sound of the Ocean drifting into their room from the patio. He hopes he can be this open with the angel with they get back home.

“I would never do anything without your consent. However, if you wish, then yes, I will put to sleep.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Cas.”

Dean puts their foreheads together.

Cas backs up, stands up, and just before he closes the door behind him, he mutters, “Good-night my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos are so very much appreciated! They make me smile. I also LOVE hearing from y'all in the comments, it is so exciting to see a comment on a story and inspires me to write better. Thank y'all so, so much!!


	4. Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beach house offers a nice haven, Chuck covers two more books (equaling one chapter), Cas and Dean bond further, and Dean finds a book. 4.02 and 4.03 are covered in this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'alls response to this fic has made the entirety of my week. I cannot thank you all enough for the subscriptions, the kudos, and the comments. They truly warm my heart. I take such great pleasure in knowing you all are enjoying this story. Thank you so, so much for your support!!
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, or any other TV Show, Movie, Book, Song, Website, Webpage, or App mentioned in this tale. 
> 
> This chapter covers 4.02 "Are you there God? It's me Dean Winchester" and 4.03 "In the Beginning." It is a very long chapter and I apologize for its length. There were so many things going on in both episodes that it ended up being far longer than I expected. And those moments mixed in with the moments with Chuck and Cas and Dean in the beach house just created a very lengthy chapter. I do so hope you all enjoy it, I cannot thank you enough for choosing to read this tale. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Zachariah is a dick. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Dean woke up in strange, but insanely comfortable surroundings. It takes him but a moment to realize where he was and what he, or rather they, were doing. He sits up, rubs the back of his neck, uses the bathroom, and heads to the kitchen.

The pleasant scent of coffee hits him. He smiles slightly to himself and calls the name of the man responsible for brewing the life-giving liquid.

“Cas?”

The angel doesn’t respond. Dean shrugs, trying not to panic, as he makes his way to the coffee maker. Beside a mug that reads “Los Angeles – Home of the Angels”, Dean finds a note.

_“I am outside.”_

Dean huffs out a slight laugh at the note, thinking just how _Cas_ it was. He gets another mug out of the cabinet, makes a cup for the angel, and heads outside.

He finds him standing facing the sea, trench coat blowing in the breeze. He wishes he had a camera, thinking maybe his own nightstand can be filled with pictures of the angel. Or maybe, pictures of _them._

Dean makes his way to stand beside him and hands him the mug.

“Thank you, Dean. Did you sleep well?”

“Ah yeah, all right. Did you try…”

Castiel regards him sadly, dark circles even more prominent on tan skin.

“No.” He offers the green-eyed man a slight smile.

The smile did nothing to quell the unease in the pit of Dean’s stomach. Instead it seemed to fuel it, reminding the green-eyed hunter of the sad smile Sam was so well known for.

“Well, if you do, the bed’s real comfortable.”

Fuck. His cheeks felt instantly hot. The smile on Cas’s face was no longer sad, but genuine, obviously enjoying Dean’s discomfort.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Fuck you, Cas.” Dean mumbled, light-heartedly.

“Hum.” Cas offered in reply, deepening Dean’s blush.

They both returned their gazes to the ocean in front of them.

“What do you want for breakfast, Angel?”

Castiel looks towards the firmament, a type of aspirant look in his eyes.

“Today will be the day you learn of my initial feelings towards Sam.”

Dean swallows a large gulp of his coffee.

“I know, Cas. It’s all good, man, promise.”

“I was so receptive of you; I fell in love with your soul the moment I saw it.”

Dean reaches for the hand dangling beside him, the hand Cas left free for that purpose. Castiel rubs the back of Dean’s hand with his thumb and Dean mirrors the action, attempting to give Cas the encouragement to continue with the words he so obviously needed to get out.

“Sam’s soul was tainted by Hell the night Azazel dripped blood into his mouth.” Cas’s nostrils flare, his eyes glaze, and Dean squeezes.

“It became a mangled thing. I… we… were taught that he was unclean. Had I known, had I any indication of how much I would come to love him as my brother, I…would have never said, accepted what I did. I am so sorry, Dean, for what you will hear.”

Dean finishes his mug and moves to stand in front of his angel, not letting their hands become untwined.

“Cas, man, that was years ago, all right? You’ve proven your devotion to me and Sam countless times since then. It don’t matter. You, me, Sam, we matter now, okay? And when we get back home, fuck, Cas, it’s, I’m gonna… this ain’t a bubble, kay?”

“Okay, Dean.”

*******

Dean had decided on omelets. He was dicing the vegetables when Chuck showed up, in the same chair with the same laptop, and the same pencil stuck behind his stupid same ear. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Ooh, I’ll take a ham and cheese one, Dean.”

Dean required a soft, pleading look from his angel before he even acknowledged the request.

“Sure.”

Chuck smiles broadly, an irritating thing to Dean, before he looks at his son.

“Kay, so today I’m thinking we combine “Are you there God? It’s me, Dean Winchester” and “In the Beginning” sound good?”

“Of course.”

Dean let out a small growl. He understood Cas’s compliance, but he didn’t like it.

“Great! So, let’s pick up right after you left the barn.”

*******

Castiel left the barn in Pontiac, Illinois to find a certain type of respite. Without understanding why, he landed on top of Mt. Everest, and looked at the world in front of him. The peak offered comfort, a feeling that offered a pleasant warmth to his grace. If he were human, he would compare it to a soft blanket on a crisp Fall night.

His grace is alerted to a type of prayer, a spoken word from the Righteous Man. Castiel tilts his head, listening. Dean is questioning him yet again, this time to his brother, Sam. His grace receives a surge of electricity, and Castiel knows Dean touched the handprint, the connection from grace to soul. The electricity is pleasant, if not confusing. It settles in the red blooming in the pit of the angel’s grace, the red he is still able to conceal.

“Commander.”

Castiel inclines his head to regard Uriel, who has located and secured a vessel.

“Brother.”

“Zachariah requires our presence.”

“In Heaven?”

“No, here.”

Castiel squints his eyes. “He has located a vessel?”

“Indeed. We are to meet him at a place called ‘Red’s.’”

Uriel nods once at Castiel’s obvious confusion. “I too thought it was a color.”

*******

Dean chuckles slightly as he places a plate on the coffee table in front of Chuck and hands Cas his.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Okay, so maybe Dean wanted to kiss Cas’s forehead as the angel’s blue eyes regarded him with such love and adoration it did a pretty good job filling the hole in his soul his life had caused, so sue him.

Instead, he got his plate from the peninsula and sat next to his… huh… what _was_ he?

“I kinda get the Uriel thing being funny now.”

Cas smiles at him, a warm thing. “You remembered?”

“’You breed with the mouth of a goat?’ Enochian jokes? Fuck yeah I remember.”

Chuck stares at them over the screen of his laptop, eyes darting back and forth between hunter and angel. With an ‘okay’ that is more breathed than said, he picks up his plate and stares at his son expectantly.

*******

Castiel regards his surroundings with interest as Zachariah ushers them towards a booth in the back of the dimly lit bar.

A waitress approaches them slowly, her eyes wandering over Castiel’s frame. The angel’s blue eyes look at her intensely, and she holds his gaze. He feels her sense of loss, her despair, and knows she is worried about leaving her young daughter an orphan. The angel reaches out and lightly takes her hand. She gasps slightly at the warmth spreading throughout her body, removing the tumor on her left lung, and clears her throat. Castiel removes his hand almost as soon as it was placed, making her wonder if she truly felt what she did.

“Uh, what’ll it be?”

“Three whiskeys.” Zachariah quips, all but shooing her off. He leans in towards Castiel. “You were not authorized to do that, soldier.”

“We were created with the ability to heal humanity’s suffering, I see no reason why we should not partake in the opportunity when it presents itself.”

Zachariah seethes, anger filling his stolen form.

Glasses are placed in front of them, and the waitress scurries away.

Cas feels a pull on his grace, a slight thing he must decipher. He soon realizes Dean is scared, and in need of assistance. Before he can fly away, Zachariah grabs his coat sleeve.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Cas’s eyes narrow, his form puffing, taking on an air of determination, “Dean needs me.”

Zachariah shakes his head as he scrunches up his face. “He’ll be fine. But you and your angels are going to have to keep some of the seals from being opened by Lilith.”

Castiel’s head inclines, his eyes narrow. He looks towards Uriel, whose visage only appears disinterested. “The seals heralding Lucifer’s rising, instrumented by his firstborn?”

“Yeah those, and uh… her.”

Zachariah rolls his eyes as Castiel looks to the table. He clears his throat, looks pained for a moment, and begins:

“Castiel, the host are working steadfastly to keep Lucifer in the cage. We are here solely to stop the Morningstar. However, as you know, our Father sealed the cage with over six hundred seals, only sixty-six of which need to be broken to release our fallen brother. We must work as a cohesive unit to ensure these seals are not broken. Your ineptitude in rescuing Dean Winchester before he broke the first seal has led us to this course, brother. Since this is your failing, I cannot understand why you are reluctant to help us. I would think that you, Castiel, would be the first to volunteer to save the humanity you profess so readily to love.”

*******

“You know, I wish I could stab him again.”

Dean takes the plates that were placed on the coffee table and begins to wash them in the sink.

“I appreciate that sentiment, Dean.”

“Is there any more coffee?”

Dean was completely over Chuck as a houseguest.

*******

The Angels in Castiel’s command stood outside the large dwelling, waiting for instruction. Castiel had hoped there wouldn’t have to be any, not now anyway. The Seraph stood awkwardly in front of a grand piano, waiting for the owner of the grandeur. A crystal chandelier stood above him, throwing fractures of light throughout the room.

“You have come for me?”

A tall, thin man enters the room; his dark hair slicked back, deep brown eyes shining from underneath thick brows. His words leave his mouth languidly, as if they were held on his tongue and emerged only from annoyance at having to be spoken.

Castiel nods once, regret only apparent on the grace behind his form.

“It is time, then?”

He nods again.

The brown eyes look towards the chandelier, his eyes reflecting the crystals. “I do not wish to go, brother.”

Castiel closes his eyes and looks to the floor. “I wish not to take you.”

“It is the seals, then, yes?”

A third nod from the Seraph.

The tall form sighs, his eyes resting on Castiel. “My assurance that I will not kill a prince of hell along with his pet hound will not suffice, will it?”

“I am afraid not, Camael.”

The archangel was the one of strength, courage, and war. He was not one to back down, and admired the courage of the lesser angel in front of him. “You will not win this fight, brother. Leave now.”

Castiel averts his gaze, his eyes resting on a piece of sapphire laid into the tile on which he is standing. “I am not alone, and there will not be a fight.”

“Ah, so it is capture you seek. Are you aware why I left Heaven, Castiel?”

“I have heard tales.”

“Hum. I doubt any of them are completely true. And what more is a half truth than a whole lie?” I was the one to drive Adam and Eve from the garden. I saw their distress, felt their pain. I wondered why they were not given a second chance. And then I realized, it was because they had all fallen prey to him.”

“Lucifer?”

“Ah, the one and only. Our dear fallen brother. I am an archangel, yes, but not one of the original four, not amongst the ones who divvied up the stars, one from which you were born.”

Castiel meets his brother’s gaze.

“I knew Father would never be able to completely get over the betrayal of his favorite, a favorite he would readily deny having. Heaven would never be the same, and with that knowledge, and the guilt with driving two deceived, defenseless humans from their home, I fled. I wandered the earth for centuries without a vessel, a form without a home. I watched, I intervened when possible, I came to love them, the defenseless humans.”

“You seemed to have enjoyed some of their riches as well.” Castiel opens his arms, indicating the splendor surrounding him.

Camael half-heartedly smiles. “You cannot compare me to the Son, Castiel. I have been on earth for centuries, accumulated wealth, yes, but I have given far more than I have ever had.”

Castiel almost yells when the Archangel appears behind him, almost gives Camael a chance, but he remains silent as Michael, in a vessel already wearing the tell-tell sign of being burnt from the inside out, stabs Camael through with a golden blade. The body slumps to the floor, grace burning through brown eyes. Angels rush in, praising Michael, as Castiel looks longingly at the floor, the body now being dissembled atom by atom by his angelic army.

*******

“There’s more than four archangels?” Dean inquires, wiping his hands off on a dishtowel.

“Yeah, but not really important ones. I mean, they’re all dead too.”

Dean nods, his lips purse, “Right.”

He opens his eyes wide to look at Cas in an attempt to share a ‘can you believe this guy?’ face, but all he sees is distress in oceanic blue.

Dean knew he shouldn’t think it, but he couldn’t wait till they beat that smug bastard.

*******

Castiel stands in front of Zachariah, his vessel’s face holding a blank stare. Inside his grace was wavering with grief from being an accomplice in killing Camael. His task was to distract the archangel, make him so engrossed in his own story that Michael could appear undetected. It worked too beautifully. In the short time since saving Dean’s soul, Castiel no longer felt autonomy. Killing Camael killed something in him as well, a spark that usually resided in the heart of his grace.

“You are to go to Winchester. He and the trucker were able to send the witnesses back to rest, but before they figured it out, twenty other hunters were killed, along with six of the Host, trying to protect other seals.”

Lamentations scatter throughout Castiel’s grace like sprinkles of paint, but he simply nods and flies away.

Castiel rests his back against the kitchen counter, his palms facing backwards and propping him against the sink, he is tired and hopeful Dean can restore a bit of his faith, in something. But he should know by now, Dean lacks faith in anything.

“Excellent job with the witnesses.”

He means it, truly. Dean was only a human, and yet he was able to send the witnesses back to rest, a feat which would have proven difficult for even an angel. Of course, Dean does not respond in the way Castiel expects him to.

“You were hip to all this?”

Castiel runs through Jimmy’s knowledge of slang and formulates a hypothesis on Dean’s meaning.

“I was uh… made aware.”

“Well, thanks a lot for the angelic assistance. You know, I almost got my heart ripped out of my chest.”

Castiel felt Dean’s need, his fear, and yet he was not allowed to help. He thinks it would have been a shame to rip out a heart so perfectly and wonderfully remade. His answer is one of relief, although it was not taken in that manner.

“But you didn’t.”

“I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks.”

Castiel did not have the time for rifling through Jimmy’s mind to find the meanings to the words Dean used and he did not understand. So, he thought back to the barn, to the knowledge Dean had available to him, along with what he had been told himself earlier, and the thing which he felt most like in that moment.

“Read the Bible. Angels are warriors of God. I'm a soldier.”

“Yeah? Then, why didn't you fight?”

The implication is the human’s words form a type of tear in Castiel’s grace. It is painful, the recollection of Camael’s killing being pressed into his field of vision, replaying over and over on a type of loop. They were talking, they were only talking, and Dean? Dean. Dean whom Castiel scoured Hell for, Dean, who risked their detection by not believing. Dean, who was accusing Castiel of doing nothing more than well, nothing. The angel did not know it yet, but he and the hunter standing in front of him were very much alike in one regard at that point in time. When they were hurt, they lashed out in anger.

“I'm not here to perch on your shoulder. We had larger concerns.”

The _we_ protected him. The _we_ kept him from being a lone monster who killed angels who had done nothing wrong, not really.

“Concerns? There were people getting torn to shreds down here! And, by the way, while all this is going on, where the hell is your boss, huh, if there is a God?”

That implication tore the tear further, causing a hole. Not believing in him was one thing, but his Father? A sharp intake of breath would have been appropriate had Castiel known how to conduct his vessel in such a manner. Instead he tells Dean what he knows is true.

“There’s a God.”

“I'm not convinced. 'Cause if there's a God, what the hell is he waiting for, huh? Genocide? Monsters roaming the earth? The freaking apocalypse? At what point does he lift a damn finger and help the poor bastards that are stuck down here?”

 _I don’t know_. Castiel thinks, often wondering the same thing himself, but never dare uttering such a phrase. Blasphemy was not treated kindly in Heaven. He begins to tell Dean what he was taught.

“The Lord works…” Dean interrupts him.

“If you say "mysterious ways," so help me, I will kick your ass. So, Bobby was right... about the witnesses. This is some kind of a... sign of the apocalypse.”

 _Ass_. Castiel didn’t have a donkey; however, he thought that was not the most pertinent information to offer at present. The angel offers Dean the truth, one which the older man was able to discover, apparently. Which was very, very impressive.

“That's why we're here. Big things afoot.”

Too big. Things that the man in front of him should not have had to deal with, things that were the angel’s fault. His fault for not saving him from Hell earlier. Shame floods the form within his vessel, and Castiel suddenly feels constricted.

“Do I want to know what kind of things?”

Castiel didn’t want to tell him, not really. He was human, a strong one, but in reality so very fragile. They all were. And yes, Castiel did manage to keep one of the seals from being broken, but what good was that really, when he had begun this whole debacle? He failed Heaven, Zachariah, Dean, God. And now he had to tell this man, the man with the bright soul who deserved nothing more than a good life, the truth about everything. A truth which didn’t settle quite right on his grace.

“I sincerely doubt it, but you need to know. The rising of the witnesses is one of the 66 seals.”

And there it was, between them. Castiel admitting the end was rapidly approaching, and Dean having to know the truth. It weighed on Castiel heavily, his grace feeling like lead in Jimmy’s body.

“Okay. I'm guessing that's not a show at Seaworld.”

_“Claire, honey, no. You can’t feed the seals your sandwich, baby.” A woman’s pretty face looks to him amusedly as she places their daughter in her father’s arms. “You were the one who couldn’t wait until she was five to take her to Orlando, Jimmy.” “She is four, Amelia, and should know not to…” Claire giggles and places a sticky kiss to her father’s cheek. “Dollpins!” Father and Mother laugh as they walk in the direction the arrow indicated for ‘Dolphins’._

The memory jolts the angel, and he must focus on the memory of Dean’s question to formulate an answer.

“Those seals are being broken by Lilith.”

That was right, wasn’t it? What Zachariah had said? Lilith, Lucifer’s first born, yes, that was correct. She was the one to raise the prince of hell and his hound, and instruct them to attack Camael, breaking a seal. Yes, that was the correct information.

“She did the spell. She rose the witnesses.”

“Mm-hmm. And not just here. 20 other hunters are dead.”

“Of course. She picked victims that the hunters couldn't save so that they would barrel right after us.”

Castiel thinks of Lucifer’s firstborn, how her creator instilled her with a certain sense of _self_ , including his depraved sense of humor. A trait he decides to share with the hunter.

“Lilith has a certain sense of humor.”

“Well, we put those spirits back to rest.”

Castiel feels it then, a certain sense of pride and accomplishment mixed with anger, shame, loss radiating from Dean. It aches, the feeling. Castiel allows it to wash over him, prompting his words.

“It doesn't matter. The seal was broken.”

“Why break the seal anyway?”

Castiel almost wishes he didn’t know the answer, just so he didn’t have to burden Dean with it.

“You think of the seals as locks on a door.”

Because they were, on a cage suspended in the middle of the nothingness of Hell.

“Okay. Last one opens and...”

“Lucifer walks free.”

A fallen archangel who Castiel vowed to keep in his confines of Perdition.

“Lucifer? But I thought Lucifer was just a story they told at demon Sunday school. There's no such thing.”

Castiel regards Dean silently. He wonders how a man who sold his soul to a crossroads demon doubts the existence of Lucifer. Perhaps it was because Lucifer is an angel, and Dean simply couldn’t believe in them.

“Three days ago, you thought there was no such thing as me. Why do you think we're here walking among you now for the first time in 2,000 years?”

Zachariah’s words echo in his mind, _his fault, his fault, his fault_.

“To stop Lucifer.”

“That’s why we’ve arrived.”

“Well... bang-up job so far. Stellar work with the witnesses. That's nice.”

Anger and grief flood the Seraphim, causing Castiel to retort, to frighten. He moves closer to the hunter, encroaching his space. Dean’s stare rivals his own. Castiel feels the heat between them, and assumes it is his grace undulating with frustration.

“We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win, some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around? There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.”

Castiel watches as Dean’s eyes avert his own, fear coming from his body in waves. He can feel Dean’s fear in his grace, a frightening thing, and he withdraws, ashamed, and flies away.

*******

Chuck taps the pencil against his teeth in mock thought. “Huh. Was that the moment?”

Dean lowers the copy of “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater” he found on one of the shelves in his and Cas’s bedroom to regard Chuck.

“Dude, no. Keep looking. I almost shit my pants there.”

“But there was heat, Dean.”

Dean pouts his lips and shrugs. “Not it, man. It’s me and Cas though, was there ever not heat?”

Cas looks at Dean fondly. He grips one of Dean’s calves that is resting on the pillow in his lap. Dean figured he might as well be comfortable, and he no longer cared what Chuck thought. He was God, he knew anyway.

Chuck claps his hands after replacing the pencil. “Okay. So, that brings us to ‘In the Beginning’.”

*******

“Here is your assignment, brother.”

Castiel takes the folder from Uriel and examines it carefully. “I do not understand.”

Uriel spares him a raised brow, a type of silencing.

“If he can change nothing, why send him back? It seems superfluous.”

Uriel folds his hands in front of his vessel’s body and turns to the scene in front of him, a carnival.

“Why did you choose to come here, Castiel? It is a place full of debauchery.”

Castiel surveys those in front of him, their laughter wafting up to the heavens.

“They are happy, Uriel.”

“Happiness is an emotion, Castiel, a passing _feeling_ , it is not real, it is nothing.”

And yet, to the angel, the carnival seemed full of _everything_.

“He must know.”

“That he has no control?”

“Yes.”

Castiel looks to a boy as he purchases a caramel apple and bites it enthusiastically, he pulls it away, his front tooth stuck in the apple’s flesh. He cries with happiness that the tooth fairy is going to pay him big for that one, as blood runs down his chin.

“That seems unkind.”

“Dean must be broken, brother.”

Castiel’s eyes turn suddenly, his gaze penetrating, cold, and angry.

“He is the Righteous Man. He is not to be touched.”

Uriel faces his commander, a lack of respect apparent on his form.

“You do not own him, _brother_. He is Michael’s.”

 _He is his own_ ; a thought that passes as soon as it comes.

“Was he saved only to be used? We will prevent Lucifer from rising, he will not need to be our brother’s vessel.”

Uriel once more looks to the carnival in front of him. His forefinger taps lightly against the back of his other hand, keeping in time with the music coming from the funhouse.

“That is correct, Castiel. However, if we are ultimately unsuccessful, our brother will need his sword to fight. Do you really think your Righteous Man would accept him now?”

No, the answer was a resounding no. Dean was too stubborn to ever even entertain the idea of housing an angel. But to _break_ him? That seemed punitive.

“Zachariah expected your reluctance.”

A questioning brow betrays a question.

“The woman at the bar, the one you healed?”

Cas nods, an almost imperceptible thing.

“He killed her.”

There was a sudden icy sensation in the core of Castiel’s grace. A type of shock that manifested not on his vessel but was betrayed by a small earthquake under the Atlantic Sea.

“I suggest you go, Castiel.”

*******

Dean feels Cas’s pain in the hand that suddenly stilled on his calf. He pulls his legs off the pillow, sets his book on the coffee table, and takes Cas’s hand in his.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, Buddy, okay? Zach, major dick.”

Cas offers him that sad smile again and Dean feels the pain in his fucking soul.

“The ‘Buddy’ is still weird, Dean. A fake day didn’t fix that.”

Dean looks to Chuck sharply, and if looks could kill, their problems would have been over. Chuck shrugs, pushes his glasses up further on his nose, and returns his attention to the screen.

“I’m here, Cas.”

Cas squeezes Dean’s hand, breathes in deeply, nods, and continues.

*******

The nightmare is apparent as soon as Castiel lands in the room. Dean is remembering Hell in vivid, grace-altering detail. Castiel laments how he was under instruction not to remove the memories of Hell from Dean’s memory, he also regrets threatening to return Dean to the place he was now dreaming of. Castiel sits gingerly on the bed, hoping to wake Dean from the nightmare. When Dean looks at him with surprise, he attempts a type of inquisitive kindness, but sorely misses the mark.

“Hello, Dean. What were you dreaming about?”

“What, do you get your freak on by watching other people sleep? What do you want?”

Although he still did not understand half of what Dean was saying, he was gladdened the hunter did not seem to take his threat of returning him to Hell too seriously; if judging by his tone was anything to go by. Castiel would swallow and take a deep breath if he were human, to steel his nerves. However, angels had no such mechanisms, so he simply acted.

“Listen to me. You have to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

With the touch of two fingers, Castiel sends Dean back in time to before his mother made the deal with Azazel. An action he knew was pointless and painful but one he had to complete nonetheless.

“Oh good. You obeyed.”

Castiel stands and turns to face Zachariah.

“I did.”

“So, eh, when Dean’s alone, drop in, give a couple updates, but not really, and then when mommy makes the deal, and Dean-o realizes he can do nothing to stop it, bring him back.”

“This is cruel, and unnecessary.”

Zachariah puts his hand to his ear, cupping it, pretending to hear something. Castiel would roll his eyes, if he knew how.

“I think I hear another helpless human yelling. I think she’s saying, ‘Oh, Castiel, just listen to your superiors for once, so I don’t have to die’. You hear that?”

Castiel’s eyes look toward the pillow on which Dean had been laying his head only moments before. “I understand.”

“Great, so uh, to your task then.”

“Zachariah.”

“What?” The angel’s annoyance at being stopped before takeoff is apparent in his tone.

“Where is Sam?”

Zachariah smirks, an evil thing, and Castiel immediately regrets his question.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

*******

“Dean.”

“I ain’t leaving you, I don’t care what I hear about Sammy. He’s good now, I know that, you know that. I ain’t leaving.”

“Please.”

Dean falters at the presence of unshed tears in Cas’s eyes. He looks to Chuck, raises his forefinger, thinks better of it, lowers it, and looks to Castiel, his Angel of the Lord.

“You’ll be okay?”

Cas nods, a smile on the corner of his lips.

“We have a lanai, I discovered it early this morning. Perhaps your book would be enjoyed there?”

“You get me right after, understand?”

“I understand, Dean.”

*******

425 Waterman holds two demons and one Sam Winchester.

Sam’s eyes turn dark as he looks to the female demon who calls herself Ruby. Her true face is detestable, gnarled, twisted and charred by the fires and tortures of Hell. Castiel looks away, then back, lamenting Sam couldn’t see the face he saw. Sam stalks over to her and lifts her easily onto his large frame. She offers him her wrist. With a move that almost is so smooth it is one motion only, he takes a switchblade from his pocket, opens it, cuts down her vein and puts his lips upon the wound, sucking, swallowing, and sucking some more. The demon’s head rolls back, and she smiles: a cruel, self-satisfied thing.

“I wish to leave.”

Castiel averts his eyes once more, hoping and willing Zachariah will just let him go back.

“What? And miss the show?”

As Ruby straightened her shirt and Sam pulled up his pants, Cas once more allowed himself to look. Sam went back to the demon in the chair, lifting it by its hair. His eyes were wild, untamed, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to unsee.

He searched for Sam’s soul, willed himself to look beyond the flesh at the real, at what mattered. What he was eventually able to see saddened him and broke a part of him he didn’t know could be broken. The Righteous Man’s brother’s soul was _dimmed_ , painfully and obviously so. Around its edges there was a sort of crimson smoke, trying to whittle its way in, and some of it has successfully seeped into the holes.

Dean’s soul was brighter than earth’s sun, and Sam’s soul couldn’t even be compared to a blood moon. Castiel’s grace ran cold, and a child was born with a caul in Philadelphia.

*******

Upon reopening the book on a chaise lounge on the lanai, Dean discovered an inscription:

_To my husband on our first anniversary,_

_Yes, I picked this title because of its irony, but really, can you fault me? You did purchase that mug in LA after all. I adore you, my love, as I always have and most assuredly always will. I hope you enjoy this volume, although I hope it does not drag you away from me for too long._

_All my love,_

_Cas_

Dean feels those stupid fucking tears prickle his eyes, and he closes them as he rests completely into the chair. He feels a weight beside him, opening his eyes to his Cas.

“Hey.”

“Hello, my love.”

“Yeah, I really fucking like that one, Cas.” Dean smiles as he lightly fingers the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat.

“Hum. So, are we to settle on that one then, or would you like for me to try out more?”

“Well, I only got a couple, so, we can stick with yours. For me.”

“I see, I can acquiesce to your request, my love.” Cas’s smile is a genuine and bright thing.

Dean sits up, their faces mere inches apart. He rests his forehead on Cas’s shoulder.

“You ready for me to come back in there?”

“Yes.”

*******

Castiel almost flings himself on the bed when they arrive back at the motel. However, he is stoic, not betraying a single emotion present within his grace.

“So, time to go pop in. I’ll uh, catch you when it’s all said and done, huh?”

Zachariah flies away, and Castiel lets relief flood him as water floods a broken dam.

Castiel finds himself on a street, knowing Dean will turn the corner any second.

“What is this?”

Castiel’s instinct to protect, to take Dean back, to save the man from a pain he deems unnecessary is outweighed by his need to protect whatever random woman Zachariah was referring to.

“What does it look like?”

“Is it real?”

Castiel almost wished it weren’t.

“Very.”

“Okay, so what? Angels got their hands on some DeLoreans? How did I get here?”

Castiel once more was lost in the man’s conversation. He addressed only the parts he could ascertain.

“Time is fluid, Dean. It's not easy, but we can bend it on occasion.”

“Well bend it back or tell me what the hell I'm doing here!”

He wanted to ‘bend it back’ as it were. He wished to return Dean to that motel room, drag him to Sam, and leave, perhaps for eternity. But he could not, he would not. He was an angel, a soldier, and most importantly, humanity’s guardian.

“I told you, you have to stop it.”

But there was nothing to stop. Only pain, pain Dean didn’t need anymore of. But it didn’t matter, not to _them_ , and by extension, not to _him_.

Only it did.

“Stop what? Huh? What, is there something nasty after my Dad?”

Castiel could not handle anymore, not right then. He left, not able to address Dean’s question, knowing he could not provide any answers.

Castiel had never known an angel to fizzle out of existence. Many have died, but only at the hands of an instrument of hell, or another angel. He wondered if they could become tired, as the humans do, and simply stop going on. He imagined their grace being taken apart, wave by wave, floating around the ether. He thought he could perhaps disintegrate, become one with atoms that existed before him. He rather fancied that idea, of existing and yet not existing simultaneously.

His reverie was cut short by Zachariah announcing to him on one particularly high-pitched frequency that it was time to visit Dean once more.

Castiel finds himself in the passenger seat of a car, a confining thing.

“So what? God's my co-pilot, is that it?”

Castiel did not care enough in that moment to comment, so he simply stared.

“Well, you're a regular Chatty Cathy. Tell me something. Sam would have wanted in on this, why not bring him back?”

Castiel thought back to Waterman and his grace tightened within his vessel.

“You had to do this alone, Dean.”

“And you don't care that he's tearing up the future looking for me right now?”

 _That would be preferable_. Castiel thinks. The angel would rather stitch humanity back together than have Dean discover what he will about Sam.

“Sam’s not looking for you.”

“Alright, if I do this, then the family curse breaks, right? Mom and Dad live happily ever after, and – and, Sam and I grow up playing little league and chasing tail?”

If Castiel knew how to make his vessel sigh, he would have done so. He vaguely knew what little league was, but chasing tail was beyond his angelic knowledge.

*******

Dean’s head rests on the pillow on Cas’s lap and Cas looks down at him sternly as the green-eyed man proceeds to laugh.

“Cas… I’m sorry man, but…”

Chuck tries to hide a laugh as well, keeping the exclamation behind closed lips.

“For a moment, Dean, I thought I left a part of you in Hell, or your coffin.”

The obvious joke caused Dean to laugh more, the tears now escaping his eyes.

“Fucking smartass.” He finally managed to choke out. He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, resumes reading his book, and Cas settles his palm back on Dean’s chest.

*******

“You realize, if you do alter the future, your father, you, Sam – you'll never become hunters. And all those people you saved, they'll die.”

Castiel saw the soul, he knew its brightness, and yet he still wondered just how righteous this man was. So, he asked, questioned, tested, hoping Dean would prove that he was the best of them – humanity.

“I realize.”

Castiel froze, weighing his next question carefully.

“And you don’t care?”

 _Please care_. He willed Dean to care just as much as he did. He needed a compatriot in the fight for humanity. Or perhaps not a compatriot, since he was not allowed to fight. Perhaps what Castiel wanted was a champion.

“Oh, I care. I care a lot, but these are my parents. I'm not gonna let them die again. I can't. No, not if I can stop it.”

And there he was, his Righteous Man.

Castiel sits on a park bench, overlooking a group of second graders enjoy a picnic lunch after a field trip to the science center. He watches as a caring teacher ensures a child with peanut allergies is not sitting close to anyone who has a ‘PB&J’. She also guarantees some children who packed a meat sandwich sit with the child instead.

An elderly man sits next to Castiel, prompting the angel to look over.

“You ain’t one of them pervs are ya?”

Castiel’s brow rises, he processes through Jimmy’s mind to react appropriately. The man meant _pervert_? Oh, that was terrifying, do people with those horrendous inclinations sit on park benches? That was more so terrifying.

“No.”

The old man nods, his head inclines towards Castiel. “The coat.”

There was no basis in Jimmy’s brain to gauge an appropriate reaction to that comment so Castiel remained silent.

“You look like you got a lot on your mind, fella. Wanna share? Old fogey like me could offer ya some advice.”

“I am far older than you, Emmanuel.”

The old man starts, then looks at Castiel with widened eyes. “We met before?”

Castiel shakes his head sadly. “No.”

Realization dawns on the old man like the sun on a new day. “You’re an angel, ain’t ya?”

“Yes, I am.”

“How come I know that then?”

Castiel clasps his hands between his knees and regards the children in front of him.

“You are on the cusp, my friend, the brink. You can see me for who I am.”

“I’m about to die then?”

“Yes.”

“Well, better get what’s off your chest over with then, since I ain’t got long.”

Castiel finds his vessel smiling. “I find myself at a crossroads.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Well, perhaps mine is a bit more metaphorical than yours.”

“I figured.” Emmanuel smiles, revealing teeth Castiel knows are not his own.

The angel’s eyes move to a scar on the man’s left hand, and the dingy wedding ring there.

“World War Two, shrapnel. I got sent home, married Elsie. Will I uh…”

“Yes. She has been waiting on you.”

Tears fill the man’s eyes and he lets one fall.

“Well, uh, okay. Crossroads.”

“Yes. How does one know the difference between what is right and what one is told is right?”

“Good question, that one. Well, I’ll tell ya, in my experience what is right feels right. And what others tell us is right, if it ain’t right, it don’t feel right.”

Castiel ponders, allowing the words to absorb into the forefront of his grace. “I understand. We are equipped with knowing what to do based on emotion.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d say all that. But if don’t feel good, like you just got a piffling in the back of your mind that it’s wrong, it probably is wrong.”

“Thank you, Emmanuel.”

The old man smiles, and his attention is drawn to a beautiful dark-haired woman in front of him.

“I take it I’m supposed to be going with you.”

She nods and looks to Castiel.

“Hello, Castiel.”

“Hello, Tessa.”

Castiel stands, shoulders set, and once more heads to the past, this time to finally retrieve Dean.

The look on Dean’s face when he watches his mom kiss Azazel and bring his dad back to life not being able to stop anything would have broken Cas’s heart, if he had one. Instead it sends a shiver through his grace, causing a small tornado in Kansas. Castiel feels Dean’s pain as the hunter’s emotions are betrayed by his eyes. Eyes that look into his when a hand is placed on his shoulder. Castiel’s emotions are conveyed by his vessel, as Dean’s pain is mirrored in blue eyes all his own.

Castiel stands away from the bed, waiting for Dean to wake. He is ashamed of what he had done to the hunter, knowing Dean couldn’t change a thing, not really.

“I couldn't stop any of it. She still made the deal. She still died in the nursery, didn't she?”

“Don't be too hard on yourself. You couldn't have stopped it.”

The truth. For once.

“What?”

Castiel ponders Emmanuel’s words. Right _feels_ right. And this? This felt wrong. But he continues, spouting the company line, although having no idea what that term means. He wouldn’t for years, and yet, he still knew there was something _wrong_ in it.

“Destiny can't be changed, Dean. All roads lead to the same destination.”

And _his_ destiny? Castiel couldn’t know, couldn’t fathom. But he imagined being separated in the ether, at some type of peace.

“Then why’d you send me back?”

Why indeed.

“For the truth. Now you know everything we do.”

 _Everything I do_.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Castiel looks to the empty bed in which Sam is supposed to lay. A queen bed in a crappy motel room next to his brother. He was meant to be in that bed, but he wasn’t, not tonight. Castiel knew why, he hated why, and he hated that Dean must know as well. But if anyone could stop it, Dean could.

Dean’s eyes follow his, and the hunter asks the question the angel was begging for.

“Where’s Sam?”

Castiel is relieved, knowing Dean will stop this, whatever this is. Whatever this could be.

“We know what Azazel did to your brother. What we don't know is why – what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up.”

But even saying it, Castiel wonders. The Host has all the power of Heaven behind it, a demon should mean nothing to them. He thinks and something feels off, wrong, and most assuredly not right.

“Where’s Sam?”

“425 Waterman.”

Castiel watches, relief flooding his core as Dean grabs his jacket and keys, ostensibly to go after his brother. He issues a warning, because he has to, because he must, because this is _Dean_ , and Dean was worried about Sam even in Hell.

“You brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we're not sure where it leads. So stop it. Or we will.”

A fallen Winchester meant nothing to Zachariah, especially not with a soul like his. The angel would probably think of it as some sort of cleansing.

At the slamming of a cheap motel room door, Castiel slumps onto Sam’s bed, his head in his hands. In the back of what would be his brain, he feels it, a piffling, and he recognizes it for what it is:

Doubt.

*******

Chuck gleefully closes his laptop.

“Chapter three done!”

Dean turns his head to regard him, book laying on his chest, Cas’s hand moved to his stomach.

“How many chapters is this thing anyway?”

Chuck appears to be calculating in his head, he scrunches his face, looks towards the ceiling, moves his head back and forth a few times before settling on:

“Eh, around a hundred?”

Dean becomes slack jawed and he feels Cas’s hand ball up into a fist, clutching his t-shirt.

“The fuck?”

“I mean, round about. Could be more.”

“Awesome.”

Dean’s moves his head back to his normal position and looks into Cas’s face. The angel smiles down at him, kindly, apologetically, and Dean smiles back at him fully.

“Nice digs, Cas, remember? We’re good, Babe.”

And there it was, Dean’s nickname.

Cas smiled truly then, and Chuck cleared his throat.

“I’m feeling really sorry for Sam all the sudden.”

Dean turns his head to look at him again, his eyes easily finding the ceiling.

“Kay, so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy, you know, whatever, and chapter four tomorrow!”

Cas moves his hand to begin to play with Dean’s hair.

“I cannot apologize enough, Dean, I…”

“Had no idea your dick of a dad would trap us here for Hell, I don’t know, a year to get your story?”

“Something like that.”

“I meant it, we’re good. Sam’s safe. And you know me, if you and Sam are good, I’m good.”

“That does tend to be your only criteria.”

“What you want for dinner? I think Chuck put some ribeyes in there. You good with that?”

“Are you not going to become bored, Dean? You take great pleasure in punching things, and I worry for you without your outlet.”

“I only punch things because it is an outlet, Cas. Me and you? This? I’m genuinely good. And uh, I don’t know, maybe, you know when things are uh… When we’ve talked some more… Or uh, spent more time… When we’ve both been uh…”

Cas smirks, “We can find some physical activities to pass the time?”

Dean mirrors the angel’s expression as a slight blush colors his cheeks. “Yeah, that.”

Cas runs his finger down Dean’s jaw. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! I would LOVE to hear from y'all. Kudos and comments are so very much appreciated and make my day, truly. Thank you!!
> 
> Next up: "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester!" (Or rather, Cas's version of events. :-) )


	5. True Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel recounts the events of "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester" to Chuck. Dean cooks, and bonding occurs over Netflix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for the kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, and comments!! Oh my goodness, they make my day, seriously. I cannot thank y'all enough for the love you've showed this fic!!
> 
> This chapter covers 4.05 "Monster Mash", 4.06 "Yellow Fever", and 4.07 "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester." 
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, or any other TV Show, Movie, Book, Website, Webpage, and/or App mentioned in this tale. 
> 
> I was so excited about writing this chapter for the motel room scene where Dean and Cas stare at each other so intently for the first time. I hope I was able to do that scene some type of justice. It also includes Cas's first show of amusement, so this chapter was a joy. I really hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you all so much for your support!!
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter!!

Dean wakes up in the bed that rivals the comfort of his memory foam (although he would never admit that out loud, loyalty and all that). He uses the bathroom, and wanders to the kitchen as he did the day before. Today, however, he doesn’t call out. He makes two coffees and heads towards the beach.

He smiles when he sees two beach chairs set up, Cas already occupying one of them. He hands him the coffee without a word and sits next to him.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Mornin’ Cas.”

Dean takes a sip of his brew and looks towards the perfection of the sea in front of them.

“You didn’t try did you?”

Cas regards him kindly, that same sad twinkle in his eyes. “I promise you, Dean, if I do attempt to sleep, I will do so next to you.”

Dean hides his smile and growing blush behind his mug. “You damn better.”

He feels Cas’s smug grin more than sees it.

“How’d you get so good at this, huh?” 

Cas only offers him an eyebrow, and the tingle resulting from the action spreads throughout Dean and seems to land in places he’d rather not deal with at the moment.

“The flirting?”

“Ah. I was unaware I was ‘good’ at it.”

“I mean, you ain’t with anyone else, I mean you’re kinda awkward as hell, but me?”

There goes the eyebrow again, coupled with a smug grin, and Dean is fucking whipped.

“Yeah, that.”

Cas allows a sort of chuckle to escape his lips. “I am afraid I cannot offer you an explanation, my love. I simply find some things come very easy with you.”

Dean looks into his coffee. “And other things?”

“Are extraordinarily difficult.”

Dean nods as Chuck calls them from the sliding glass doors. “Hey, what’s for breakfast?”

With a look that can only be described as pure exasperation, Dean looks to Cas. Cas offers an apologetic smile, and hand in hand they enter the house.

*******

The Seraph looks to the damage in front of him. They were unable to sus out the demon who was to be responsible for breaking the seal and were forced to lay waste to the entire town. Castiel mentally tallied the humans killed – eight hundred seventy-four. Castiel’s grace pulls tightly in on itself and a toad is born with two heads in the Amazon.

“Had we had more time…”

“He would’ve broken the seal.”

Castiel looks to Uriel, an angel still in his command but one who did not act like it. There was no reverence, no respect for his commander. Castiel could still silence him with a word, but the angel wondered if that was only to prevent the wrath of Heaven, not of Castiel.

“Instead, a tornado rips an entire town to shreds. These people had potential, brother.”

“They were nothing, Castiel. Mud-monkeys.”

Castiel regards him with distaste. “Father created humanity in His image, Uriel. The Son was human. Do these things mean nothing to you?”

In response, the angel folds his hands in front of him, looking towards the town he took such pride in destroying. “We are to follow orders, Castiel. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Uriel flies away and Castiel is left with the decimation. He hears a cry and tilts his head. Walking through the rubble he comes across a woman trapped under a portion of a roof.

“Help me.” Blood trickles down her forehead.

Castiel bends down and places a palm on her forehead. He stands to remove the debris, freeing the woman’s legs. She screams in pain and Castiel is once more kneeling by her side. He heals her with a touch, and she looks to him in awe.

“What are you?” Each word is enunciated with fear, and Castiel does not blame her.

His face sets as he looks past her to the damage beyond, as far as the human eye can see.

“An angel.”

The woman looks behind her, cries escaping her dry lips. “I… everyone’s gone.”

Castiel nods, a sad and solemn thing. “I am sorry.”

As she looks into his face; he chances a glimpse into her soul. He sees a young man she was intended to marry next month. He sees a mother, a sister, a niece. If Castiel had a heart, it would have broken. His face once more becomes stone.

“Is there somewhere I can take you?”

She falters, an expected thing. “I… have a brother.”

“Where?”

“San Francisco.”

The angel nods and they fly away.

*******

“So, Uriel got his jollies killing whole towns, huh? Bastard.”

Dean places a bowl of shrimp and grits in front of Cas and one in front of Chuck. Begrudgingly, he might add. He adored cooking for Cas, but the in-law was not a pleasure. He sits next to Cas once he got his own bowl.

He smiles as Cas stares at it.

“It’s uh, a thing I learned when we had a case in Louisiana once.”

“It is quite visually appealing.”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Thanks, tastes better.”

He looks over to Chuck to see him shoving the food into his mouth.

Dean wonders how the all-powerful entity in front of him can teeter between the drunk writer they met all those years ago, and a cruel and capricious god. Dean shrugs as he enjoys his breakfast.

*******

“So.” Zachariah claps his hands in front of him as he looks to Castiel and Uriel. “I take it you learned your lesson about not obeying, huh soldier?”

Cas nods.

“Good. So, the Winchesters have stumbled upon a witch trying to raise Samhain.”

Castiel looks to him quickly. “Samhain?”

“Yeah. Uh, pretty big deal, it’s a seal obviously.”

Uriel nods. “You wish us to stop it, brother.”

Zachariah looks taken aback, a comical look. “Oh no, you are to follow Dean’s orders.”

Uriel straightens as oxygen fills his vessel, he was not going to question Zachariah, not here, but he knew he could possibly find a sympathizer in Castiel, later.

“Why?”

Zachariah looks to Castiel, distaste apparent on his vessel’s face. “We’re testing him to see how he performs under battlefield conditions.”

The answer left Zachariah’s mouth easily; too easily, Castiel would later realize.

“I do not understand. We are successfully saving seals. We could lay waste to Hell without much damage to our forces. I know Hell, I can map it out, we can attack. There is no need for Dean to be our brother’s vessel. We can prevent it from coming to that.”

Zachariah plasters on a smile. “Soldier, your orders from _Heaven_ are to follow Dean Winchester’s orders.” The angel shrugs, his hands raising in a somewhat comical manner due to the exaggeration. “Besides, it’d be a shame if that poor woman you saved today were to, uh, I don’t know, slip in the shower?”

Castiel’s form stills, his grace stretching within his vessel. He nods once.

“Good.” Zachariah claps his hand in front of him once more.

*******

Dean kisses Cas’s temple as he bends down to retrieve the empty bowl from in front of him. Cas sends him a questioning glance accompanied by a grateful smile. Dean shrugs, wearing a smile all his own.

Chuck blinks at them, looking as if he can’t place where exactly he went wrong. He taps the laptop in front of him with his thumb. He purses his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and once more readies his fingers on the keyboard.

*******

Uriel and Castiel arrive in the Winchester’s motel room and Cas is immediately overcome by the sheer amount of purple, colors look different through the eyes of a vessel and this is disorientating. The color is the same used in religious ceremonies, meant to denote royalty, but there is so much of it. Uriel looks around with distaste.

“Hum. These are the habitations of the chosen.”

Castiel feels the presence of something evil and he begins to search the room. His hands run along the walls until he feels it. He punches a hole into the wall easily and removes a hex bag.

“The witch located them.”

“Hum.” Castiel offers in response. He opens the hex bag and destroys the ingredients inside, sealing the bag back together after he’s done.

Uriel laughs slightly and Castiel narrows his eyes at him.

“The chosen are inept.”

Castiel was unsure why Uriel kept making the term plural, but he had larger concerns at the moment.

Uriel went to the window to stand, and Castiel turned, contemplating the words of Zachariah. The angel acted as if Lucifer rising was a sure thing. The feeling did not sit well in Castiel’s grace, it was unsettling, as if it didn’t belong. The piffling returned and he was jolted out of his musings by Sam Winchester entering the room, gun drawn.

“Who are you?”

Castiel feels Dean enter shortly after and allows the Righteous Man to explain for him.

“Sam, Sam wait, it’s Castiel.”

Cas feels as Dean lowers Sam’s gun. Castiel mildly wonders if Dean was concerned for his safety, knowing a gun would not do anything to him.

“The angel.”

Castiel feels as Dean regards Uriel, his soul reaching out to Cas’s grace as if it is asking a question. The feeling is odd to the angel, as he has never experienced their connection this way between them before. He felt Dean’s fear while Uriel was enacting his decimation, but it was not a true fear, he knew Dean had been spelled, and he did not go to him. Although he probably would not have been allowed to anyway.

“Him, I don’t know.”

Castiel can feel a type of joy from Sam, it radiates, and Cas regards him differently. He looks into his soul and sees some of the taint has gone. The crimson circling his soul has lessened and a spark is present in the middle.

“Hello, Sam.”

“Oh my God – er – uh – I didn’t mean to – sorry. It’s an honor, really, I – I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Sam offers his hand to Castiel. The angel looks down at it, uncertain. Not because he hesitates to touch Sam, not because of the taint of hell, but because he is genuinely unsure what to do with it. It is a human gesture, he is sure. He reaches into Jimmy’s mind for the appropriate response. He finally takes Sam’s hand in his own and holds it there. He focuses on the spark he sees and _feels_ in Sam’s soul, and a type of joy spreads throughout his grace, causing a rare species of orchid to bloom in a greenhouse in Atlanta.

“And I, you. Sam Winchester. The boy with the demon blood.”

Castiel did not present the information as an insult, but rather a fact. He takes his other hand and puts it on top of Sam’s, relishing in the spark. The blood moon of Sam’s soul was slowly waxing into a full one, and Castiel was pleased. He had no doubt Dean could stop Sam, but it was one more thing that allowed Castiel to put faith in his champion.

“Glad to see you’ve ceased your extracurricular activities.”

He truly meant it, did Castiel. He knew the spark could spread, would spread. Perhaps his soul would never rival that of his brother, but it would still shine.

Uriel remains to stand at the window, but speaks nonetheless. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Dean, of course, quips in. “Yeah, okay, Chuckles.”

Castiel only mildly notices Dean did not correct him when he mentioned Sam’s intake of demon blood. He releases Sam’s hand and Sam nods at him, in a somewhat confused manner. Cas keeps his attention on the youngest Winchester, as he cannot seem to pry his eyes away from the spark.

“Who’s your friend?”

Castiel still does not pay Dean any attention, his eyes still locked on Sam’s.

“The raising of Samhain – have you stopped it?”

Sam seems to falter, although Castiel still looks, still searches, looking for the plurality of ‘chosen’. Was there something he was unaware of? Was Sam also a righteous man?

“Why?”

Castiel is no longer allowed to focus on the spark as Dean demands his attention. He looks to the eldest Winchester, for the first time since the man entered the room. He attempts to ignore the brightness of his soul, and the connection of grace to soul.

“Dean, have you located the witch?”

“Yes, we’ve located the witch.”

“And, is the witch dead?”

Castiel hoped beyond hope this would be it, that this ‘test’ would never have to come to light, that the seal would be saved, and Dean would be able to continue in the way he was, with Sam.

“No, but…”

“We know who it is.”

Castiel allows for a fraction of a second’s time to be spent on how synchronous the brothers were. The angel’s hope dies, and he informs the Winchesters of the witch’s ingenuity.

“Apparently, the witch knows who you are, too.”

He walks over to the hex bag, grace heavy, and retrieves the hex bag from the nightstand he reassembled after burning the contents. He picks it up and shows Sam and Dean.

“This was inside the wall of your room. If we hadn’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead.”

A lamentation of the mere thought weighs heavy on Castiel’s grace and a butterfly’s wings cause a windstorm in the Sahara. He allows air to fill his vessel, a slight, imperceptible motion. He allows a small fraction of hope to once more resume inside his form as he asks:

“Do you know where the witch is now?”

“We’re working on it.”

And once again, the hope dies. Castiel allows the feeling to wash over him. He knows his true mission, but he cannot erase the memory of the rubble he so recently left.

“That’s unfortunate.”

He looks to Uriel, knowing the other angel’s task, and what he has done in the past.

“What do you care?”

Castiel once more looks to Dean, hoping, willing his would-be champion will make the decision he is not allowed to.

“The raising of Samhain is one of the sixty-six seals.”

“So this is about your buddy Lucifer.”

Castiel feels a familiar pit, a promise made in the middle of the nothingness of Hell.

“Lucifer is no friend of ours.”

Castiel notices how Dean once more regards Uriel as the angel speaks, still turned to the window. He feels Dean’s fear at the other angel, and regrets he was not allowed to conduct this mission alone. He knows why Uriel is here, but he does not like it.

“It’s just an expression.”

Castiel once more speaks, so that the attention will be drawn back to him. Dean’s fear causes a pull on his grace, a painful thing. He likens it to a type of summoning, and he supposes, in a way, it is.

“Lucifer cannot rise.”

Castiel believes that with all his grace. Humanity would be extinct if the archangel had his way. Humanity was a blight in Lucifer’s eyes, the plague that took his Father’s attention away from him.

“The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs.”

_Please choose them, Dean._

“Okay, great. Well, now that you’re here, why don’t you tell us where the witch is? We’ll gank her and everybody goes home.”

If only he could.

“We are not omniscient. This witch is very powerful. She’s cloaked, even to our methods.”

Sam’s earnestness and want to help causes the spark to grow ever so slightly, a beautiful sight. “Okay, well, we already know who she is. So, if we work together -”

Before Uriel interrupts, Castiel wonders how it would be to work with the Winchesters, his grace responds to the idea in slight, pleasant waves.

“Enough of this.”

“Who are you, and why should I care?”

There he is, the Righteous Man. If Castiel knew how to make his vessel smirk, he would have taken the opportunity.

With an exasperation Castiel did not know he was fully capable of, he answers:

“This is Uriel. He’s what you might call… a specialist.”

Who took too much pleasure in his specialty. Castiel works hard to keep his grace from shirking at Uriel’s approach.

“What kind of a specialist?”

Cas knew Dean would ask, but he wished he wouldn’t. Uriel offers a meaningful glance to Castiel, a show of mock respect for Castiel’s position. Cas holds his look.

“What are you gonna do?”

Castiel knows he cannot look at Dean’s soul, so full of sincerity, so he continues to look at Uriel so he will not falter.

“You – both of you, you need to leave this town immediately.” After seeing the spark, Castiel could not imagine Sam Winchester not existing in the world.

“Why?”

Oh, Dean.

Castiel holds his gaze. “Because we’re about to destroy it.”

Castiel once more drops his gaze to the floor, ashamed of even the mere suggestion.

“So, this is your plan… You’re gonna smite the whole freaking town?”

Castiel knows the seal is important, knows keeping Lucifer in his cage is paramount, but this mission is about _Dean_ , and he has to play the part. If only to keep a woman alive in San Francisco.

“We’re out of time. The witch has to die, the seal must be saved.” He looks into green eyes, eyes that bore into him in Hell, and do much the same now.

“There are a thousand people here.”

Castiel feels the spark flicker with righteous indigitation at Sam’s words.

“One thousand, two hundred and fourteen.”

Castiel acknowledges Uriel’s pride swelling in his grace, and if he had a stomach, it would turn.

“And you’re willing to kill them all?”

Castiel allows Sam’s words to wash over him, he bathes in them, delights in them, shame at his first assessment of Sam’s soul washing over his grace as well.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve… purified a city.”

Castiel thinks to the rubble that laid before him for miles. His eyes find Uriel, and he looks away almost as quickly, unable to process the emotions running throughout the other angel’s grace.

“Look, I understand this is regrettable.” He looks to Dean once more, hoping to bathe in the purity of the man’s green eyes.

“Regrettable?”

“We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already.”

What a sentence to utter. Seals over people. Over humanity, his father’s most prized creation. Even though this is a test, the mere idea is so truly regrettable.

“So you screwed the pooch on some seals and now this town has to pay the price?”

“It’s the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion. There’s a bigger picture here.”

_“You choose, Castiel. Him, or all of them.”_

_“Why any, sister?”_

_“Because, you are a soldier, and such decisions will have to be made. Now, choose, or it is all of them.”_

Castiel forces himself out of the memory he isn’t even sure is true to focus on Dean.

“Right… ‘Cause, uh, you’re bigger-picture kind of guys.”

Castiel steps closer, willing Dean to make the right choice he does not yet know he has to make. His eyes search and find Dean’s soul behind the emerald eyes. A color that entrances him.

“Lucifer cannot rise.” It’s earnest, it’s true. “He does, and Hell rises with him. Is that something that you’re willing to risk?”

He knows he was not allowed to erase all of Dean’s memories of Hell. He knows Dean remembers bits and pieces Castiel wanted to erase the moment they were free. He stares at the brightness, seeking, searching for the man who only wanted to save his brother, the man who wanted to save his family, the man willing to go to Hell for eternity so Sam might live. He looks and he searches, and Dean looks and stares back.

The angel does not know what Dean is seeking in his vessel’s eyes, but he does not break the connection, hoping Dean will see his grace, and feel their connection. He wills it, he hopes it, he wants his champion to see that he is truly on his side. He watches intently as Dean’s tongue licks his bottom lip, wondering what that the human motion meant. He continues to look, and he feels it, the heat he felt before. This time he is not angry, so it is not his grace. He wonders what the electricity means, and where it’s coming from. He is not able to think too long, however, because the youngest Winchester commands both of their attention.

“We’ll stop this witch before she summons anyone, your seal won’t be broken, and no one has to die.”

Sam’s words all but float over them as their attention is drawn back to one another. Castiel to Dean and Dean to Castiel. Soul to grace and grace to soul. It is there, it is intense, and Castiel wonders just what it is.

“We’re wasting time with these mud-monkeys.”

Castiel’s grace shirks at Uriel’s words. He drags his eyes away from Dean, and once more regards the floor in front of him.

“I’m sorry. But we have our orders.”

He moves away from Dean, to escape the heat that could quickly become oppressive. Although he feels, in that pit of his grace that holds the blood red, it never would.

“No, you can’t do this. You – you’re angels.”

Castiel feels Sam’s _faith_ then, and he feels guilt for tarnishing such an unadulterated thing. A small population of a rare type of fish go extinct in the Amazon.

“I mean, aren’t you supposed to – you’re supposed to show mercy.”

If Castiel had a heart, it would’ve sunk.

“Says who?”

Castiel expounds on Uriel’s statement, willing the youngest Winchester to understand, but he cannot face him – either one of them. “We have no choice.”

“Of course you have a choice.”

It hits Castiel’s grace then – what Dean means. Free-will. Something angels were never intended to have.

“I mean, come on, what, you’ve never – never questioned a crap order, huh?”

If Dean only _knew_.

“What are you both, just a couple of hammers?”

Castiel knows the words are true, that is exactly what he is being right now, but not what he wants, what he yearns to be.

“Look, even if you can’t understand it, have faith the plan is just.”

Castiel barely gets through it, guilt eating away at the edges of his grace. Where was _his_ faith?

“How can you even say that?”

Castiel wonders how he did, especially since Sam questioned him on it. He replies in a way he knows must be true. The way he has known for millennia.

“Because it comes from Heaven, that makes it just.” He truly believes this, and is able to look at Sam.

“It must be nice to be so sure of yourselves.”

Castiel feels attacked from both angles, and he relies on his knowledge of Dean in order to deliver a blow back. If Castiel was anything, he was a warrior, regardless of cause.

“Tell me something, Dean. When your father gave you an order, didn’t you obey?”

It was harsh, and a low blow. However, when the angel felt attacked, he fought back. Sometimes with a blade, sometimes with a word. And this was the man he flew out of Hell, a man who was allowed to forget their bond, a man with whom heat radiated between them, and he just wanted Dean to _understand_.

He feels Dean regarding him and hopes he will understand. But once more, his hope is quelled.

“Sorry, boys, it looks like the plans have changed.”

He is going to save them; the righteous man is going to save them. Although the words did not come with an understanding for Castiel, they came with hope for humanity.

Castiel regards him anew, a head tilt, another small look into his soul. He feels joy and hopes it didn’t come across on his vessel.

“You think you can stop us?”

Castiel had to give Uriel accolades for playing his part.

“No.”

Dean moves closer to Uriel to emphasize his next words, and Castiel swelled with pride for his charge.

“But if you’re gonna smite this whole town… then you’re gonna have to smite us with it. Because we are not leaving.”

He feels as Dean looks back to him quickly before once more addressing Uriel. “You went to the trouble of busting me out of Hell. I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. You want to waste me? Go ahead. See how he digs that.”

Pride swirls around the red blooming deep in Castiel’s grace, causing it to grow.

“I will drag you out of here myself.”

“Yeah, but you’ll have to kill me. Then we’re back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you’re gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch? Sounds like you’re compensating for something.”

Dean moves away from Uriel and back to Castiel. Castiel looks to him once more, and he knows, he just knows, this is it. Dean is it.

“We can do this. We will find that witch, we will stop the summoning.”

Hope is once more alight on Castiel’s grace, and he feels like the most pleasant type of fire.

“Castiel, I will not let these…”

Castiel stops him with a word and a raised hand. Even though this is all an act, the heat in his voice is true. “Enough.”

He stares into the eyes he is now so fond of. “I suggest you move quickly.”

Dean’s eyes raise, and he nods.

*******

“Was that the moment?”

Dean lowers his book to his chest, causing Cas to move his hand to his stomach. Dean never wanted the connection to end, and he absent-mindedly wondered what skin to skin contact would feel like before pushing that aside and addressing Chuck. He shrugs.

“One of ‘em.”

“No, Dean, there can’t be _moments_ , plural. This is a story, there has to be a moment.”

“This is life, Chuck, not a story. It was a buildup.”

Chuck takes his glasses off and chews on the end of one of the earpieces. “I’m an author, I can work with this.”

Cas looks down into Dean’s eyes. “Are you okay, Dean?”

“Dude, I’m great. Got a pillow, good view.” He gives Cas a wink. “Good book. I’m good. Are you?”

Cas sighs as he brings his hand up to play with Dean’s hair. “I am being reminded of how wonderful you are. At this moment in my recollections, I am well.”

Dean huffs out a type of laugh. “You and that soul crush, man.”

Cas smiles. “Always.”

Dean offers another smile before resuming his place in his book.

*******

Two angels watch humanity in a park, lush with greenery. Humans pass by, laughing. Uriel sits on a bench, looking after the humans who passed. Castiel stands next to him.

“The decision’s been made.”

“By a mud monkey.”

Castiel’s feeling of possessiveness comes to the forefront of his grace, and he works to push it down, not wanting to display any type of weakness in front of Uriel; and, in their line of work, attachments of any sort were a weakness.

“You shouldn’t call them that.”

“Oh, that’s what they are – savages, just plumbing on two legs.”

Castiel’s grace tightened. He thought of his vessel, the man’s kindness, his devotion. He thought of Dean, and Dean’s righteous pride and indignation. He thought of Sam, and the young man’s hope to save humanity. He looks to Uriel with contempt.

“You’re close to blasphemy.”

Uriel stills and sighs. Castiel once more regards the humanity in front of him. He thinks once more of Dean, of his soul.

“There’s a reason we were sent to save him. He has potential, he may succeed here.”

_Please succeed._

Castiel sits next to Uriel, a type of resolution in his form.

“At any rate…”

He folds his hands and rests his head on them, his elbows resting on his knees, a very human gesture.

“It’s out of our hands.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Castiel knows the meaning behind Uriel’s words. He knows the feeling: rebellion. However, Castiel knows it does not have pure intent behind it. He wonders what Uriel thinks is _right_.

“And what would you suggest?”

“That we drag Dean Winchester out of here, then we blow this insignificant pinprick off the map.”

And there it is, Uriel’s bloodlust coming to the forefront, along with his blatant disregard for Sam.

“You know our true orders.” He looks to Uriel in a type of disbelief. “Are you prepared to disobey?”

Castiel can feel the fear radiate off the angel, and he knows he stilled the other angel’s thoughts, at least for now.

*******

“Dude, were there any angels who weren’t pricks?”

Cas regards Dean, his hand once more returning to the hunter’s stomach to make way for the lowered book. “I suppose those who were on the ground, dying to protect seals that did not truly matter in the end. Perhaps they were not ‘pricks’.”

Dean shakes his head softly. “You’re one in a million, Cas. I’m glad it was you who ripped my ass outta the pit.”

Cas chuckles slightly. “When you find yourself hungry, I made you a couple sandwiches and put them in the refrigerator.”

Okay, so the angel making him food before he even got up made affection flow throughout Dean’s entire body and he wanted very much to kiss Cas right then. But there was Chuck staring at him like they were some characters in the “Sims.” Dean figured to Chuck, they probably kinda were.

He was sure as hell gonna kiss Cas, and soon, but it was gonna be special and Chuck was not gonna be in the room, damnit.

*******

Castiel laments the breaking of the seal, but he does not lament Dean’s choice. He goes to visit Dean in a park, admiring the hunter’s penchant for scenery. He revels in the knowledge Dean can sense him, much the same way he can sense Dean.

“Let me guess, you’re here for the ‘I told you so’.”

“No.”

Castiel looks to him, then turns his vessel’s eyes to the children playing in front of him. He wonders what they are to become, those children. He is grateful Dean chose to save them. He is unsure if the hunter passed Heaven’s test, but he most assuredly passed Cas’s.

“Well, good, cause I’m really not that interested.”

Castiel is saddened by the Righteous Man’s words, as if there is a type of disappointment there, and a need to be offensive before having to defend.

“I am not here to judge you, Dean.”

“Then why are you here?”

Castiel was going to tell him everything, so that once more Dean would know all he did.

“Our orders…”

Dean interrupts him, characteristically, but still unexpectedly.

“Yeah, you know, I’ve had about enough of these orders of yours.”

Castiel continues from the beginning after allowing Dean his interruption.

“Our orders… were not to stop the summoning of Samhain. They were to do whatever you told us to do.”

Dean leans forward in the bench, his hands crossed between his knees. “Your orders were to follow my orders?”

Castiel makes a type of nod, not breaking his gaze into the righteous man’s soul, looking for the feelings he was becoming accustomed to.

“It was a test. To see how you would perform under…” He looks away then, slight shame moving throughout his grace. “Battlefield conditions, you might say.”

“It was a witch not the Tet Offensive.”

Castiel laughs, a motion that transfers to his vessel in a type of chuckle. It was his first true boding moment with Dean since Hell, and Castiel allows the mirth to warm him, encouraging him.

“So, I uh… failed your test, huh? I get it.”

Castiel wishes the man would have more faith in himself, but he knows the self-loathing runs deep, he can feel it, see it. He pauses, and Cas hopes maybe Dean will see himself for the champion Castiel knows he can be.

“But you know what? If you were to wave that magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I’d make the same call.”

Castiel nods, a slight thing. His grace holds his delight now, not his vessel.

“’Cause, see, I don’t know what’s gonna happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don’t know what’s gonna happen tomorrow. But what I do know is that this here, these kids, the swings, the trees, all of it… is still here because of my brother and me.”

Castiel looks to Dean once more, studying. Cas knows the man is trying to justify, and he simply wants Dean to _understand_.

“You misunderstand me, Dean. I’m not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town.”

Disbelief floods the hunter, and Castiel can feel it radiate. “You were?”

“These people…” Castiel leans forward to regard the children and their guardians more intently. “They’re all my father’s creations. They’re works of art. And yet… even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken, and we are one step closer to Hell on earth for all creation.”

Castiel feels Dean’s exasperation and he returns his gaze to him. “And that’s not an expression, Dean. It’s literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means.”

Castiel regrets it as soon as he says it, Dean’s look didn’t harbor fear or pain, but anger. Castiel wonders if that was why he wasn’t allowed to remove the memories, so they could be used against Dean, a reminder of what could become once more. Dean’s exasperation creates a certain type of anger Castiel is unable to mitigate, and his responses become uncharacteristic, and perhaps even cruel. He tries to recreate the bond he felt only moments ago.

“I’ll tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul.”

“Okay.”

Castiel relaxes, grace flowing freely.

“I’m not, uh…” He hesitates, a very human motion, as angels are very rarely unsure of their words. “A hammer, as you say. I have questions. I… I have doubts. I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore. And whether you passed or failed here.”

He looks to Dean, who avoids his gaze, and continues: “But in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make. I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean.”

Castiel pauses, knowing Dean will have to make his decisions alone. And although he doesn’t envy the weight, he envies the choice. Nonetheless, he says:

“I truly don’t.”

Castiel allows himself one final look into Dean’s soul, gathering strength, before flying away.

*******

Chuck slams the top of his laptop closed. “Oh yeah, Chapter four finito!”

Both Cas and Dean look to Chuck unimpressed. Chuck awkwardly scratches behind his ear. “Yeah, okay, tough crowd. So, was the bench thing a moment?”

Dean nods. “Yeah.”

“Just how many moments are there?”

Dean shrugs, a shit eating grin on his face. “Around a hundred? Maybe more?”

Cas smiles slightly at him.

“Very funny, Dean.” Chuck’s eyes narrow as he removes his glasses to rub his eyes. “Anna chapter tomorrow.” He offers Dean a shit eating grin of his own before disappearing.

Dean flings a pillow at the now empty chair.

“Fuck!”

Cas spares him a questioning glance. “If you would rather not be present, Dean, I understand.”

“Naw, man, it’s fine, it’s just...”

Cas’s eyes narrow.

“We, you know…”

“Had sex?”

Dean rolls his eyes before leaning back on the couch. “Yeah, that.”

“I was aware.”

“Dude, still! We’re different now, and it’s weird or something, I don’t know.”

Cas purses his lips and takes Dean’s chin in his hand. His thumb runs over the slight cleft there.

“Chuck is making me relive every aspect of my life Dean, in gut wrenching detail. I regret many things but loving you will never be one of them. I loved you then, but I did not fully understand how or even what it was, so I was not terribly affected. It will not really even be mentioned I don’t think.”

“So, the red in your grace?”

Castiel smiles, a pure thing. “Yes, my love for you.”

“In Hell, man?”

Cas shrugs, a smile playing on pale pink lips.

It would be so easy to kiss Cas now, his hand on his chin, his eyes twinkling, flirtatious smile on full display. But he couldn’t do it right after talking about having sex with someone else. So, he takes Cas’s hand in his instead, and moves his arm to around his torso as he leans into him.

“Chuck left early for once. TV and then dinner?”

Cas hums an affirmative. “I could attempt to cook for you.”

“I uh… really appreciate the offer Babe, but we can’t order pizza if you fuck it up.”

“I led armies in Heaven.”

Dean chuckles as he rolls his eyes. “And if I need someone to lead a bunch of prick angels in a battle against Hell, you’re my guy, but when it comes to cooking, eh.”

He feels Cas’s pout in the loosening of his grip. He tries to hide his laugh behind forcefully pursed lips. He grabs Cas’s arm to keep it closer to his body.

“Sorry, Cas, you’re not getting out of this just cause you’re a little pissy.”

Dean feels Cas’s head snuggle into the top of his own and he knows he won. Cas moves his other arm to encircle Dean as well, and Dean settles in like he was always meant to be there.

“I would never try to get out of this, Dean.”

The pureness fills Dean’s senses, and those annoying tears prickle his eyes once again. He swears he must be allergic to something in this damn (fucking beautiful who was he kidding) house.

“Maybe you can chop some stuff.”

The offer seems to satisfy Cas as he extends an arm to pick the remote up off the coffee table and hand it to Dean. Since there was currently no news, they were currently binging “The Witcher.”

“He’d be awesome to hunt with.”

Cas shoots him a disapproving glare Dean can’t see because of their positions on the couch, but Dean could fucking feel it. He smirked, taking an obscene amount of pleasure in Cas’s jealously.

Dean squeezes one of Cas’s arms. “You know I’m right.”

“He is talented.”

“And hot.”

Cas sighs, and Dean smiles even wider.

“And hot.”

Dean full on chuckles then and leans his head back to see Cas’s expression. It doesn’t disappoint. Cas takes the opportunity to kiss the end of Dean’s nose in such a sweet and pure motion Dean thinks it must be frozen in time somewhere. And if that wasn’t the most fucking sappy thing he’s ever thought.

Cas’s attention is turned to the TV once more. He tilts his head at a monster on screen. “That is very unrealistic.”

Dean snuggles back into Cas. “Yeah, doesn’t seem fucking real.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! I would LOVE to hear from y'all!! Comments make my day and warm my heart y'all!! Kudos are so appreciated, and subscriptions and bookmarks make me smile. Y'all are the absolute best!!
> 
> Up Next: "I Know What you Did Last Summer" and "Heaven and Hell"


	6. Anna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel recounts his experiences with Anna, Dean decides it is time for a first date, and Chuck is... Chuck.  
> Covers 4.09 "I Know What You Did Last Summer" and 4.10 "Heaven and Hell."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so thankful to all of you for your kind comments, the kudos, the bookmarks, and the subscriptions. It means so much to me to have such wonderful readers. Thank you all so, so much for the many kindnesses, I appreciate you guys so much!! Thank you!!! 
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, or any other TV Show, Book, Movie, Song, Website, Webpage, and/or App mentioned in this tale. 
> 
> I struggled with this chapter and how to portray Anna. After her appearance in Season Five, I grew to dislike her. However, I felt sympathy for her in Season Four in one of the later episodes. I say this to explain how I have chosen to write her in this chapter, she is seen through Castiel's remembrances of her. One section in particular was inspired by "Paradise Lost" so I owe credit to John Milton for that bit. (I had to read the epic poem for a class, and of course I just kept comparing the work to Supernatural.) I made these choices from the way Cas acts in "On the Head of a Pin" and from one line in "Heaven and Hell" - "Still, we have a history." I hope I have explained the choices I made in this chapter. It is a bit of a heavy one considering the elements it contains, so it has what I hope turns out to be a very pleasant ending for the chapter in the beach house. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter. :-)

The man appears kind, his smile bestowed on all those below him. He opens his arms to them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.” (Matthew 5:3 KJV)

The Seraph looks to his commander and notices a wistful look in one of his sister’s eyes. His grace is drawn to her, and they form a connection at appendages the humans might refer to as hands, grace intwined.

“You are distressed, sister.”

She looks to him, one of her faces turned to the angel, one on the Son, and one towards the sky. “No, Castiel, I am simply listening.” A type of smile is formed on the face looking to the mount. She moves closer to him, and all three faces look toward the man on the mountain, his friends sitting at his feet. Her grace becomes more entwined with Castiel’s, and he feels a pleasant type of shiver run throughout his grace.

“Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.” (Matthew 5:4 KJV)

Castiel watches with one face as his sister focuses on the man in front of them. He narrows some of his eyes, attempting to place the look on his sister’s faces. If Castiel did not know the look to be impossible on his commander’s face, he would think it was a type of envy. Angel’s could not be envious, for if they were, they fell.

“Blessed are the meek, for they should inherit the earth.” (Matthew 5:5 KJV)

Castiel looks to the people surrounding him. There are multitudes, all listening to the words of the Son, Castiel’s most esteemed brother. He looks toward him with righteous pride, knowing the Son to be the best of humanity. He loved and was loved. Castiel moved closer to Anna, their grace combining at what could be described as shoulder to shoulder. The chill continues, and Castiel enjoys the connection.

“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled.” (Matthew 5:6 KJV)

Castiel felt a pleasant calm there, watching the humanity he was instructed to serve. His peace was furthered by the presence of his commander and sister. Anna was not only in charge of Castiel’s garrison, but she had become what the humans might call a friend. He listened to her, took counsel from her, trusted her. His grace burned for but a moment, bringing to existence an emotion within the pit of him, an emotion he hid.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” (Matthew 5:7 KJV)

Anna turns one of her faces to Castiel then, their grace connecting even further.

“Brother, why, if the Son speaks of mercy, is Heaven so unwilling to grant it?” Her face turns back to the Christ. “He would grant it.”

Castiel’s faces look to the crowd in front of him, contemplating his sister’s words. “Perhaps mercy is only meant for the humans now, not us.”

They had captured a brother hiding on earth in a vessel not a week prior, his disobedience causing his imprisonment. Heaven’s jail was not a kind place, and both Anna and Castiel were hesitant to take their brother to incarceration. However, they were assured it was ‘for the betterment of Heaven’.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” (Matthew 5:8 KJV).

Anna looks to the Son, mirth apparent in the lines around his eyes. “Humanity is worthy of so much, are they not, brother?”

Castiel regards her, her faces still set to the mount. “They are our Father’s creations, and yes, sister, they are wonderful.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.” (Matthew 5:9 KJV)

“I often wonder, what it feels like.”

She moves closer to him, their graces now connected at what could be described neck to neck. It was forbidden to connect any further, but Castiel wondered what the feeling would elicit. His grace undulates, the emotion in his pit hidden but shaking.

“Feels?”

Anna turns the head closest to Castiel to him, their faces almost touching.

“Emotion, Castiel. What does it feel like? We couldn’t possibly understand. We are angels, made to be emotionless creatures.”

He does not move back, but rather answers her, face to face, grace connecting with grace. “Do you not feel, sister?”

“Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.” (Matthew 5:10 KJV)

Several of her eyes stare intently into Castiel’s, unblinking. “I do not know. Do you, brother?”

“Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.” (Matthew 5:11 KJV).

“Would it be rebellion if I said ‘yes’?” He takes the equivalent of a stilling breath, his grace moving in slight waves.

“I know not. However, our fallen brother felt, and was that not his crime?”

“Rejoice, and be exceedingly glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.” (Matthew 5:12 KJV).

“His crime was disobeying the will of God, not emotion. Anna, do you not _feel_?” His eyes search hers, hoping, praying for an answer that matched his own.

“Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savor, wherewith shall it be salted? It is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.” (Matthew 5:13 KJV)

Anna turns her face toward the Son once more. Her voice whispers, almost inaudible: “No.”

Castiel moves once more to stand in his own space, his grace no longer connecting with Anna’s. He feels incomplete, and the burning in the pit of his grace is snuffed, the flame only now being embers. He looks towards the Son, the kind man on top of the Mountain filling those below him with _hope_.

Hope. An emotion, a feeling Castiel was instructed not to have. Hope. A fraught thing he lost a little bit of when his beloved sister said ‘No.”

*******

Dean stands in the doorway of their bedroom, looking to Cas on the couch. He watches as Chuck lowers his glasses and looks to Castiel. Dean was sure he saw tears residing in the angel’s eyes; but he couldn’t move to comfort him. He was frozen in place, stunned.

“I didn’t really know you two were that close, I’m learning a lot here. Good stuff. Readers are gonna love it.”

Cas looks up to his father, unable to speak. Instead he gets up and goes to the counter. He sees Dean in the doorway and immediately averts his eyes.

Dean takes a deep breath to steady his nerves and walks over to his… fuck… he still didn’t know what to call him. He takes Cas’s hand and leads him out to the lanai, getting out of Chuck’s line of sight anyway.

Once they are on the lanai, and the glass doors are closed behind them, Dean takes Cas into a tight hug. “Why’d you start without me, Babe?”

“It is ten o’clock. Chuck has been here an hour.”

Dean breaks the embrace, holding Cas at arm’s length with his hands on either of his shoulders. He purses his lips and makes sure he catches Cas’s eyes.

“That thing, in your grace?”

Cas looks away, and Dean grabs his chin to establish eye contact once more.

“Yes.” Castiel answers an unasked question.

Dean closes his eyes and pulls Cas to him once more. “I…”

“Nothing needs to be said, Dean.”

“Fuck that.”

Cas breaks away and sits on the chaise, Dean sitting beside him. The angel leans forward, his hands clasped between his legs and Dean remembers a park bench so very long ago.

“I had forgotten how close we were. We…” Cas peers straight in front of him. “She was so unhappy for so long, and I didn’t recognize the signs.” He closes his eyes then and bows his head.

“And what if you had, Cas? Huh? What could you have done? You would’ve, what, followed her? Ripped your grace out?”

Cas opens his eyes again and looks to the side, away from Dean. “I don’t know, Dean. But it doesn’t matter now.” He begins to stand, and Dean grabs his hand, stopping him.

“Cas, man, come on. Look at me.”

The angel’s eyes were so full of pain, Dean felt his stomach turn. “Oh fuck. You really did love her.”

“I told you I did.”

“Last night you didn’t say…”

“Last night it wasn’t so vividly recalled.”

“Well, Chuck’s a dick.”

“That’s helpful.”

Cas sighs and places his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean wraps his arms around him and moves one of his hands up to Cas’s hair.

“It’s okay, Babe, I’m here now.” Dean kisses the side of Cas’s head, and he can feel tears drip onto his neck as Cas envelops Dean in his arms fully accepting the comfort.

Dean had never anticipated this. He knew of _his_ relationship with Anna, knew what they had done, but he never thought of Cas’s relationship with her. I mean they were angels, he didn’t even think that kind of stuff was possible. Anna made it seem like it wasn’t possible, but here was Cas, full angel, and full of emotion. But Cas was always kind of different, being born of a star and all that. He grips Cas tighter, so damn unbelieving the being was in his arms, and that the being wanted _him_.

“I’m gonna make you some food, okay? And then I’m not gonna leave your side the rest of the day. And then, I’m gonna take you on a date.” Dean didn’t think that last bit through completely, but he was gonna make it happen.

Cas releases him as he moves away from him to look into his eyes. “That is a very kind thought, my love; however, I believe we are more or less stuck here.”

Dean smirks as he wipes Cas’s face with his thumbs. “Hey, don’t doubt me, man.”

Cas smiles, a small but genuine thing. “Never.”

*******

Uriel grunts with disgust. “They are so very _basic_ are they not?”

Castiel and Anna regard their brother, trouble deepening on all their faces.

“They are our Father’s greatest creation, Uriel. They are to be watched, guarded, not judged.”

Uriel regards his commander not kindly. “Yes, Anna.”

Anna and Castiel watch as a young boy chases a herd of sheep, laughing all the while. His mother calls out for him, announcing it is time for the midday meal. With the boy’s departure, the sheep gather around the two angels.

“He was happy, was he not brother?”

Castiel smiles toward his sister with one of his faces. His wings stretch outward, his grace flowing freely with calm and contentment. The grass beneath his feet turns a shade greener.

“Yes, he was full of mirth. It is such a pleasant look, their smiles.”

She nods, her eyes trained on the dwelling in the horizon. “It is. And yet, they have so little.”

“I do not believe it is material wealth that brings them joy, sister.” He bends to look at the grass beneath his feet. He notices clover beginning to bloom, and steps back. He watches as a bee gathers pollen from the clover his grace caused to bloom. He follows its flight to its hive with one of his faces, his others trained on his sister.

“What is it then, their source?”

Castiel makes a motion that would mimic a shrug on a human. “I do not know, nor can I attempt to assume. However…” He waits to continue until Anna is looking at him and joins their grace minutely, her intertwining it more at his invitation. “I imagine it has something to do with those who surround them, and the peace they create within their souls.”

She nods all her heads at once, an almost imperceptible thing. “Are you at peace, brother?”

He looks to her as he moves to combine their graces further. “I am.”

*******

Dean kisses Cas’s forehead as he hands him a plate of pancakes. He puts Chuck’s at his spot on the coffee table and retrieves his from the peninsula.

“Why you need all this back story, huh?”

Chuck swallows the bite of pancake in his mouth before answering. “Uh, it makes Cas more well-rounded as a character.”

“He’s not a character, he’s your son, and he’s being fucking tortured here.”

Cas regards Dean with that ‘you’re being stupid’ look that is so distinctly _Cas_ , it makes Dean smile in spite of the intent behind it.

Chuck pulls his signature shrug, causing Dean to want to punch the guy in his face, again.

*******

“They are aware meat does not originate in a can?”

Anna looks to her brother amusedly, although a bit sadly. She turns her faces to the man in front of them, who is pouring a can of ‘Sloppy Joe’ into a pan. “They probably know, Cas.”

“I do not understand, what about it is ‘sloppy’?” He tilts his heads as the man puts the substance onto what humanity referred to as a ‘bun’. At an attempt at a bite, a ‘plop’ falls onto the man’s shirt. “Ah.” Castiel muses. “I understand now.”

Castiel can feel his sister’s distress and reaches for what would seem to be a hand. Their graces entwine, undulating. Anna moves closer, their grace becoming one to what would be their necks. Castiel stills at the connection, as the embers are fueled by a breath of his sister’s grace.

“Anna.”

She does not speak but rather moves closer, their graces igniting at the connection, each unwilling to separate for the warmth that radiated throughout them.

“I wish to feel.”

They are almost one wavelength now, one solitary stream of celestial intent, their true forms being molded to accommodate them both. Their graces moved in strong, pleasant waves, and a hibiscus in Hawaii blooms fully, surprising residents.

“This is forbidden, Anna.”

They do not move, and Castiel wishes this action, this entwining would never end.

“I only wish to feel, Castiel. That cannot be wrong.”

He remains steadfast, the heat encompassing him. The small fire erupts into flames, consuming him, consuming them.

The man laughs as a woman throws a dishtowel at him. He picks her up, spins her around, and sits her on the counter. He kisses her tenderly.

The angels, grace all but fully combined, watch them. Anna backs away suddenly. Castiel feels cold, tendrils reaching to her vainly. Anna backs away more, and begins her ascent to Heaven, leaving whispers behind her.

_“I wish to feel.”_

*******

“Uh, was that, was that…”

“Angel sex?”

Dean looks to Chuck exasperatedly, wanting Cas to answer his question. But Cas’s head is in his hands.

“Yeah, that.”

“Uh…” Chuck takes his glasses off and puts one of the earpieces between his teeth contemplatively. “Not really? I mean, I guess it could be described as that, on like a really base level. But, uh, there’s no bodies, so it’s more like a _soul_ connection?”

“Oh, great.”

Dean takes Cas’s plate with a slight huff. Is this why Cas didn’t want him to be here for this bit? What could he even say though? Okay, so I mean, they both had pasts. Pasts? Was he, was Dean jealous? Fuck! He was. Of a chick he slept with. Oh dear Chuck, that made it worse, didn’t it? He could feel Cas behind him as he was rinsing off the plates.

“Don’t you need to go finish your story or whatever?”

“Dean.”

“You couldda warned me last night, Cas.”

“I can’t truly explain how this works, I remember, but not specifics until when I am forced to recount the events.”

Dean turns around. “I asked you, I asked if you ever… with angels and you said no.”

Cas’s eyes narrow. “Really, Dean? What do you think was removed from my memory before I betrayed Anna to Heaven? Hum? Do you think they left in that bit where our graces connected?”

Cas looks so fucking broken, and Dean caves, instantly. “I’m sorry, I think I’m just a little freaked because… this is fucking messed up. She, she never told me, and you, you…”

Cas regards him anew, with a slight smile Dean is so grateful to see. “Of all the things that have occurred in our life, I think this is hardly the most ‘messed up’, Dean.”

Dean scratches his forehead. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”

“Ah, sorry to break up special moment numero dos, but uh, we got a lot of ground to cover.”

Cas offers his hand to Dean to lead them back to their spots on the sofa.

*******

“Got a new assignment for the two of you. Don’t you like working together? Great fun.” Zachariah winks at them, causing Uriel to sigh. Castiel simply remains, unmoving.

Zachariah sits on the edge of a desk, hands joined together on his lap. “I need you two to go and retrieve Anna from the Winchesters.”

Castiel’s grace undulates with anxiety, but his vessel remains unchanged.

“Anna is human now, her grace ripped out. What good is she to us?”

“Glad you asked Uriel, so, it seems our favorite little red head got to tap back into angel radio when a certain Seraph screamed ‘Dean Winchester is saved’, knocked a few angelic screws loose.” He smiles, close lipped at Castiel, causing the angel to avert his gaze.

“So yeah, go get her, kill her.”

“Surely that is not necessary, Zachariah.”

The angel sighs. “Yeah, Castiel, it is. She fell, disobeyed. And uh, you know what happens to good little angels who disobey, right?”

Castiel nods once, solemnly.

“Great. Off you go.”

*******

Dean really didn’t know how he was going to pull this whole ‘date’ thing off, but he knew he was going to make it fucking awesome. I mean, first off, it was Cas’s first date. Whatever that thing was with April didn’t count. Anna definitely didn’t count.

Dean knew this was a hard story for Cas to tell, and he knew it was going to only get more difficult. The angel had barely scratched the surface. He pulled Cas into him when they sat back down. He was kinda embarrassed at first for the action in front of Chuck, but he soon realized he didn’t care all that much. Cas needed him, and Dean was gonna be here.

*******

The angel looks at the cabin in front of him, Uriel beside him. He laments their mission, laments retrieving and killing Anna, whose only crime had been wanting to feel, to be one of the humans they so lovingly and carefully watched. She had not openly disobeyed their father’s will. She simply wanted to be one of the humans He loved so much. The fire that died inside him twenty-two years ago had long since turned to ash and was now replaced with a type of red bloom that grew exponentially whenever he was around the soul of Dean Winchester.

The door is blown open by the combined power their graces had on the elements surrounding them, and Cas entered first. His eyes are drawn immediately to those of the green-eyed hunter, and remorse floods his vessel.

His eyes are momentarily drawn to the demon standing next to his charge, the one Sam engaged with on 425 Waterman. Repulsion floods through him and he is thankful for the distraction of Dean’s voice.

“Please tell me you’re here to help. We’ve been having demon issues all day.”

“Well, I can see that.”

Castiel allows Uriel to do the talking, his grace swirling with a strange mixture of regret and repugnance.

“You want to explain why you have that stain in the room?”

Castiel can see Dean’s faltering at answering Uriel’s question and speaks. “We’re here for Anna.”

Castiel can see, can feel the fear in and on Dean. He knows the Righteous Man will protect any human he sees as innocent.

“Here for her, like here for her?”

Cas’s grace folds in on itself as Uriel barks an order at _his_ charge. “Stop talking. Give her to us.”

Castiel sees the spark in Sam’s soul grow brighter as he asks, “Are you gonna help her?”

“No.”

Short, to the point, direct. The conciseness did nothing to quell the unease in Castiel’s gut, the emotion transferring only slightly to his vessel. He can feel Dean’s judgement, his anger directed at him, and as the man is right in his assessment of Castiel’s character and intentions at this moment, and because maybe Castiel feels he deserves the hatred of the man he so admires, he adds:

“She has to die.”

Sam is the one to question him. “You want Anna? Why?”

 _Because she wanted to feel. Because she wanted to be one of you. And I am not entirely sure she was wrong._ But the angel says nothing, and simply stands there, not knowing an answer.

“Out of the way.” Uriel was absolute, the solider Castiel could never be.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Castiel knew, the moment he saw Dean’s eyes, the man would not let Anna go without a fight.

“Okay, I know she’s wiretapping your angel chats or whatever, but it’s no reason to gank her.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll kill her gentle.”

Castiel halfway knew the last four words were meant for him, and he retreated into himself, attempting to put up the mask that had often protected him in the past. He attempted to guard himself and build defenses, blocking the pain that was coming at him from every angle.

“You’re some heartless sons-of-bitches, you know that?”

Dean always included him, they were hammers, they were heartless, and in this case he was right.

“As a matter of fact we are. And?” It was cruel, it was _heartless_ , and it was enabled by his mask.

“And Anna’s an innocent girl.”

Castiel enjoyed the spark alight in Sam’s soul. It was a lovely thing to watch flicker. He did so as he muttered, “She is far from innocent.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” _Flicker._

“It means she’s worse than this abomination you’ve been screwing. Now give us the girl.”

Uriel did have a way with words. Castiel averted his eyes, embarrassed by his brother, and the entirety of the situation.

“Sorry. Get yourself another one. Try JDate.”

Castiel had no idea what the last two words were referring to, but there was the tiniest hint of a smile apparent on his vessel’s lips, indicating either pride or amusement.

His head remained bowed as Uriel retorted.

“Who’s gonna stop us? You two? Or this demon whore?”

Castiel’s grace tightens even further with fear as Uriel grabs Ruby and throws her into a window, breaking the glass.

As Dean steps towards Uriel, preventing him from smiting Ruby, Castiel approaches Sam. He can feel Dean’s fear as Sam says, “Cas… stop… please.”

Castiel revels in the younger Winchester using his nickname and is saddened by the flicker moving as if a breeze is threatening to blow it out. He touches two fingers to Sam’s head, to make him fall asleep. He moves towards the room he knows Anna is being kept in. His attention is so intent on seeing the former angel, he does not feel Dean’s fear as Uriel pummels him. He thinks, although the thought passes quickly, that if he is the first one to reach Anna, maybe, just maybe, they could escape.

Everything is suddenly too bright as his grace is being pulled apart wavelength by wavelength. He knows it will be reassembled, and soon, but the knowledge does not stop the pain that rips through the very core of his being. He feels himself being torn apart and is conscious as his grace slowly rebuilds, taking hours.

*******

“That’s what it feels like? Like you’re being ripped apart?”

“Oh yeah, it’s not pleasant.”

Dean gives Chuck a ‘shut the fuck up’ face and turns to Cas.

“Yes.”

Dean swallows and kisses the top of Cas’s head. He allows the angel his short answer, knowing nothing else should be added.

*******

Castiel’s grace and vessel are reunited and land in the middle of Australia. Zachariah stands in front of him, hands folded.

“Hey, so uh, you’re with me for a bit, we’re gonna have a talk.”

They begin to walk, nothing but uninhabitable land around them.

“Uriel tells me you were reluctant retrieving Anna. Said you showed some, uh, shall we say, remorse?”

Cas stands, surveying the land in front of him. “Where is he now?”

“With Dean.”

Cas stills.

“In a dream. Dean’s hidden. But, fun story. Ready? He’s authorized to kill Sam if Dean doesn’t give up their location. Fun, huh?”

Castiel looks to the land in front of him, hoping his unease is not apparent on his grace.

“Sam is not…” Castiel looks around him, unable to face his superior. “He is not a bad man.” The words are forced out, but the angel means them. Losing Sam would be a loss to the world, Castiel now knew.

Zachariah clicks his tongue and begins to walk again. “I beg to differ. I mean, he’s screwing a demon.”

“But his soul…”

“Yeah, gonna stop you there. I don’t care. He’s a means to an end.”

“Why is Anna needed? Why is her death so important?” In the back of his mind, in a place Castiel often left unvisited, he wondered when it would all simply end. He was tired of killing, of smiting.

“Well, Uriel got her grace from some oak or something. So, she’s not really all that important, but she kinda just pisses me off. On principle.”

Cas’s grace runs cold, and a riverbed runs dry.

“I mean, being an angel, and then choosing to be one of _them_? It’s just wrong, Cassie.”

Castiel’s brow furrows with thought as he continues walking. “But, if you act like a good little soldier, I’ll make you a deal.”

Castiel very hesitantly replies and only does so because Zachariah won’t speak unless he does. “What?”

“Glad you’re interested. You go with Uriel to the meet up tonight, actually do your job, obey orders, and uh, I’ll let you be the one to kill her. How about that?”

“What?”

“Think about it? I mean, I know you two kinda had a thing, and it just seems right. She’s all human and vulnerable now, it’d be a shame if, I don’t know, she were to be hurt before being killed.”

Castiel stops, his grace vibrating inside his vessel. “Yes.”

Zachariah claps his hands in mock joy. “Oh good!”

*******

“Fuck, Cas.”

Dean encompasses Cas completely, his arms wrapping around and rubbing up and down Cas’s upper arms.

Dean buries his face in Cas’s hair. “You never tell me anything, man.” He mumbles, barely audible.

“Our relationship could not be born from sympathy, Dean. Besides, you very rarely allow me to share in your distress.”

“I talk to you more than anyone.”

“And I you.”

“We gotta work on that, Cas.”

“I’ll add it to our list.”

They both chuckle slightly as Chuck regards them with a head tilt and slight narrowing of his all-knowing eyes.

*******

“Zachariah deemed you worthy of this mission, Castiel?”

“Yes.”

“I am told you are the one to enact justice.”

“Yes.”

Uriel rolls his eyes towards the Heavens as he opens the doors to the barn. This time, they walk in side-by-side.

Castiel’s grace grows heavy as he lays eyes on Anna, his once commander and closest friend. He smiles, ever so slightly.

“Hello, Anna. It’s good to see you.”

He means it, truly. So many assignments, so many things are regrettable. But his one last hope is that he can bring Anna a peaceful, instantaneous death and that her soul will be reunited with her parents in Heaven.

Sam’s voice is full of desperation and disbelief as he utters: “How, how did you find us?”

Castiel allows his eyes to move ever so slightly to Dean, a type of pain apparent in the action. Dean is unable to meet his gaze and looks to the floor instead. There is a type of guilt there, between them both.

Castiel allows his eyes to find the floor as Sam and Anna realize Dean was the one who gave away their location. His eyes remain there as Dean turns to Anna and whispers:

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Sam asks indignantly.

Anna looks to them then, and Castiel can feel a pit where a flame once burned long ago.

“Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me… or kill you.”

Castiel still focuses on the floor as Anna continues. “I know how their minds work.”

It is with those words Cas looks to her, knowing not so long ago their minds were very similarly together. Cas’s gaze follows her as she kisses Dean gently. His grace is uncertain by the action, too many emotions fighting within him.

“You did the best you could. I forgive you.”

The words weigh on Castiel heavily. He is reminded of the past, so long ago, when he and Anna watched as the Son was killed, the sacrifice for mankind. The memory surges through him and he once more looks to the floor, guilt flooding him, drowning him.

“Okay.”

Cas chances a glance at her, hoping something can steady him, ground him.

“No more tricks. No more running. I’m ready.”

“I’m sorry.”

He means it, the words, for all they are worth, for all they ever could be. And yet:

“No. You’re not. Not really. You don’t know the feeling.”

He wishes he didn’t. Wishes he couldn’t. He wonders if she truly remembers. Perhaps she doesn’t. Maybe she didn’t recall the feeling of their graces joined together, the heat. Or maybe it was only he that felt.

“Still, we have a history. It’s just…”

“Orders are orders. I know.”

No she didn’t, not really.

“Just make it quick.”

He would, of course he would. And he would never allow anyone else to touch her. Not a…

“Don’t you touch a hair on that poor girl’s head.”

There was that voice, that putrid blend of smooth and slick. Alistair.

The demons were holding Ruby in-between them, her breaths ragged. Castiel pondered, as Uriel advanced.

“How dare you come in this room you pussing sore.”

Castiel absent-mindedly thought Uriel’s vocabulary could possibly use some refinery.

“Name calling. That hurt my feelings you sanctimonious, fanatical prick.”

Castiel wants this to end, all of it to just end. He knows what the demons will do if they get ahold of Anna, and he cannot risk that.

“Turn around and walk away now.”

“Sure. Just give us the girl. We’ll make sure she gets punished good and proper.”

Castiel would rather his grace be pulled apart atom by atom and incinerated while he was still able to feel.

“You know what we are and what we will do.” Castiel moves closer to them to emphasize his point. “Leave now or we will lay you to waste.”

“Think I’ll take my chances.”

Uriel makes the first move as he advances upon a demon. He fights off another one as Castiel beings punching Alistair, not to much effect. He attempts to smite him but finds himself unable. Fear moves throughout his grace in strong waves.

“Sorry, kiddo. Why don’t you go run to Daddy?”

The demon clears the angel’s arms from around him and punches him forcefully in a type of uppercut, forcing him to the floor. The demon straddles him, the fear subsides somewhat as Castiel stops attempting to fight back. He stares into the true face of the powerful demon wondering if this was the way his story was going to end.

“Potestas inferna, me confirma.”

Castiel feels as his grace is being constricted within him as the demon draws on the power of Hell to strengthen him further.

“Potestas inferna, me confirma.”

His grace is being disintegrated as Alistair is garnering the power of Hell in the vessel of a pediatrician. He wonders if this is what it will be like, to exist as one with the ether.

“Potestas inferna, me confirma.”

He feels his grace rebuilding as Dean distracts Alistair with a blow to the back of his head with a crowbar. He wonders why the righteous man saved him. Especially knowing the act Castiel was going to commit before the demons came into the barn. Was it their connection? Did Dean feel it as well?

“Dean, Dean, Dean. I am so disappointed.”

Castiel can hear and see the demon, but his focus is still slightly askew as his grace rebuilds.

“You had such promise.”

That causes Castiel a much different type of pain, a memory entering the forefront of his mind. A bright soul reluctantly shedding blood in Hell. He knows he must get up; he must help Dean as Alistair advances upon him.

The demon reaches out and chokes the Winchesters with demonic power, much as he choked him. He cannot move yet, his grace still repairing. He watches as Uriel smites the second demon and Anna takes his distraction as an opportunity to snatch her grace. A type of relief washes over the Seraph, knowing he will not have to kill his once friend.

He watches with awe and reprieve as she smashes the vial and intakes her grace.

“Shut your eyes!”

Alistair foolishly walks towards her, evaporating his vessel.

They all stand, Cas positioning himself in front of Dean. Dean bends to pick up the ornate knife that slays demons and Castiel was overly familiar with.

“Well, what are you guys waiting for?”

Castiel looks to him, thankful, and yet unsurprised by the man’s need to quip.

“Go get Anna… Unless, of course, you’re scared.”

_You misunderstand me, Dean._

“This isn’t over.”

Uriel stalks towards Dean, and Castiel stills him with a hand to his shoulder, pulling him back. Not in gratitude, not in repayment, but simply because he is Dean and he is Castiel.

“Oh, it looks over to me, junkless.”

Castiel spares him one last, hopefully meaningful glance, before flying away.

*******

Chuck closes his laptop, removes his glasses, and looks at the pair in front of him on the sofa.

“Uh, so, yeah, we’re done for the day. The next chapter is gonna be the whole, can you stop this seal from being broken and torture this demon, Dean? Thing.”

“Great.”

Chuck nods at Dean’s reply. “Kay, Uh, all right then. See you tomorrow.”

“Good-bye, Father.”

It sounded so broken, so hopeless, that Dean felt a piece of his heart break off.

“Cas.”

Castiel moves forward to release himself from Dean’s grip. “I am fine, Dean.”

“No, you’re not, man.”

Cas looks to him then, sad blue prominent on a tired face. “Will you, would you care to lay with me?”

Dean knew his Biblical terminology and cleared his throat slightly before answering. “Uh, we uh… usually things happen first, Cas… I mean, I want to, I really fucking want to… don’t think that… but uh…”

Cas’s eyes narrow, his brow furrows before realization dawns upon him and he laughs. An actual laugh that makes Dean’s heart slowly rebuild.

“I meant literal sleep, Dean.”

Dean nods as he purses his lips and runs his hand down his face.

Cas leans over to whisper in his ear before walking to the bedroom. “Although, I must admit, I am somewhat heartened to hear you ‘really want to’.”

Dean clicks his tongue, nods, grins, and follows Cas to the bedroom.

*******

“Dude, no.”

Cas looks to him questioningly as he sits on the edge of the bed fully clothed.

Dean begins to go through drawers and throws a t-shirt and pair of pajama pants at Cas. “Put these on. In the bathroom.”

Cas stands up to do so, and Dean shouts at him before he can shut the door, “And bring me the coat, tie, pants, and trench coat. But put the boxers and white shirt and undershirt in the hamper in there.” Why the hell did Cas wear so many clothes? “Oh, and the socks!”

Dean looks down and shrugs as he realizes he never actually changed out of his pajamas. He waits a solid five minutes for Cas to come out of the bathroom before knocking on the door.

“Cas, you okay?”

“It’s a lot of clothes, Dean.”

The angel opens the door to hand him the suit and Dean marvels at how _human_ and _wonderful_ he looks. He drops the suit onto the floor to wrap his arms around his…

Fuck!

What _was_ he?

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Umm, not that I am not enjoying this connection, I am, but can we perhaps lay down?”

Dean chuckles slightly as he lets Cas go and bends down to pick the suit up.

“Sorry, man, you just looked so fucking huggable in those flannel pajama pants.”

“That is very chick-flicky, Dean.”

“I kinda love those things.”

“I know.”

The hunter hangs the suit up on Cas’s side of the closet and slides next to Cas on the bed. His nerves hit him then, as he realizes all this is _real_. He stares up at the ceiling, afraid to look at the angel next to him.

“It’s just me, Dean.”

Dean breathes in deeply and turns to face Cas.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“You were a great comfort to me, today. Would you like to be held?”

Dean’s eyes soften. “Yeah, I uh… I think I would.”

Cas smiles as he lays on his back, and Dean finds his spot fairly quickly, his head resting on Cas’s chest, his arm crooked and hand running along Cas’s jaw.

“I ain’t done this in a long time, Cas.”

The angel’s arms encircle him, drawing him into him. He kisses the top of Dean’s head and closes his eyes. “I appreciate your trusting me enough to allow me to hold you.”

“Fuck, Cas. You’re it for me, Babe.”

*******

Dean wakes up to a still sleeping angel. He smiles as he looks at the clock on the nightstand. Five pm. He carefully unravels himself from Cas and begins to get dressed in something more first date suitable than pajama pants and a t-shirt.

He looks in the kitchen cabinets and finds a tablecloth and some candles. He shrugs as he makes his way over to the dining room table and begins to set it, complete with candles in the middle.

He wanders outside hoping to find some flowers there. A hibiscus in full bloom greets him as he exits the front door. He is reminded of a human Cas picking a rose for his date. He tries to shake the memory out of his head as it is accompanied by guilt. He wonders just how he’s gonna make it through Cas’s recollections of that?

He breathes in and out several times, steeling his nerves. He cuts several of the blooms and makes his way back inside to find a vase. The kitchen cabinets provide one that he fills with water and places in-between the candlesticks. He pouts his lips and shrugs, halfway impressed with his work.

He opens the fridge to find everything he needs to make classic diner food, which, to be honest, was a perfect first date for him and Cas. He smiles to himself as he begins to prepare the potatoes. A groggy Cas stumbles from the bedroom at six thirty, when Dean has just finished putting the burgers together.

“Perfect timing, Cas.”

“We had a date.”

The nostalgia at that moment, the moment where Dean knew there was something more than simple friendship between them causes the green-eyed man to shake his head fondly. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Cas picks a cherry from between the lattice on Dean’s pie which causes the man to look at him, deadpan.

“You couldn’t wait?”

Castiel looks up to the ceiling and shakes his head. “I have become very fond of your cooking, Dean.”

Dean smirks at that, and kisses Cas on the cheek before putting the plates on the table. He stops Cas before he can sit down.

“Nope. Go change. Pajamas are a definite no for a first date.”

Cas rolls his eyes as he stalks back to the bedroom.

Okay, so maybe having Cas change was the worst fucking idea Dean ever had because the jeans and dark blue Henley he came back out in was just too fucking much and Dean knows he is so incredibly whipped in every way possible he probably won't be able to focus on anything except how damn good the angel looks the remainder of the night.

Cas takes the seat opposite him and mutters “Better?”

Dean nods as he swallows.

“Am I allowed to eat now?”

“Yeah, Cas, you can eat.” Dean is proud of himself for managing an eye roll. 

Okay, so the little noises Cas made while eating the burger were not helping anything either. Dean makes a point not to look at him.

“Dean?”

“Hum?”

“Am I… am I doing something wrong?”

Fuck. Of course, he thinks that. Why wouldn’t he?

“No man. I’m… you’re…”

Cas tilts his head.

“The whole ‘easy on the eyes’ thing is kinda affecting me right now.”

“Oh. You’re distracted?”

“Yeah. You’re fucking hot, Cas, okay?”

Castiel nods, thoughtful. “Thank you, Dean. You also look very attractive this evening.”

And that did it. Dean suddenly eased back into the comfort the two of them always shared. He smiles, pointing to Cas with his burger.

Castiel helps Dean clean and Dean lets him slice the pie.

Dean relishes the relaxed and rested look on his angel. “How you feel?”

Cas sighs as he runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, the man’s head in his lap. They decided to end their date with a movie, and Dean couldn’t have come up with anything more perfect had they the entire world at their disposal. He was with Cas, and at the end of everyday that is what mattered.

“I feel better, strengthened. And I look very much forward to sleeping next to you tonight.”

Dean swallows as he looks into the beautiful face of his angel. “Yeah, I like it too, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! I would LOVE to hear from y'all! Comments warm my heart, truly. Kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks are so very much appreciated as well! Thank you all!!


	7. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beach house: more bonding while reading and retelling stories. And Dean makes an awesome breakfast.   
> Chuck's story: Castiel deals with being demoted, his hesitation and pain for asking Dean to torture, his doubt, his faith, his feelings for Anna, and the betrayal of a brother. 
> 
> Covers the events before and during episodes 4.15 "Death Takes a Holiday" and 4.16 "On the Head of a Pin".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for the kudos, the comments, the subscriptions, and the bookmarks! Ya'll are the absolute best and I appreciate you all so, so much!! Y'all warm my heart. :-) 
> 
> I do not own Supernatural or any other TV Show, Book, Movie, Song, Website, App, and/or Webpage mentioned in this tale. 
> 
> Y'all - this chapter is so long!! I apologize in advance for how long it is. I thought combining the two episodes would be fine, but after I started writing I realized just how much went into the episodes, and how much background there was that wasn't on the show but must have happened with Castiel and the other angels. I am so sorry this chapter took so long to get out, which caused a slow update. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!

Dean opens his eyes to find his angel staring blankly at the ceiling. He huffs out a laugh as he realizes Cas’s arm is still protectively around him.

“Mornin’ Sunshine.”

“Good morning, Dean.”

Dean licks his lips and raises himself slightly, using Cas’s chest to prop his elbow on. He was kinda thankful the guy had angel strength and wouldn’t mind. Although, he seriously doubted the human Cas would’ve shoved him off.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Cas’s eyes narrow and Dean just knows he’s in for a good one.

“We are not in need of money in the present moment, Dean.”

Dean nods and rolls his eyes slightly, not disappointed.

“What you thinking about, Angel?”

Cas begins to rub Dean’s back up and down with the arm that was enveloping him only moments prior.

“I am concerned regarding the events we will have to cover today.”

Dean nods as he lowers his head back to Cas’s chest.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a bright spot.”

Cas moves his other arm to hold Dean as well. “I was so sure I was receiving orders from Heaven. I did not always understand them, I questioned, I doubted, but I still served.”

“You know how you asked me what I did if my Dad gave me orders?”

Cas hums affirmatively.

“I followed ‘em Cas. Every time. Sometimes it damn near killed me, but I did it.”

“But you stood up to him, for Sam.”

Dean breaks the embrace in order to raise his head and look into Cas’s eyes. “I didn’t tell you that.”

Cas sighs as he breaks the gaze to look sadly at the ceiling. “No, Sam did.”

A wistfulness overcomes Dean’s features and he lays his head down once more. “He did?”

“Yes, it meant a great deal to him.”

“Well, you stood up to those dicks, for me.”

“After I put you through needless torture, Dean.”

“And what, huh? You would’ve just taken me and we would’ve sailed off into the sunset together?”

“I would not have been strictly opposed to that.”

Dean chuckles. “Naw man, look, it sucked, but I did it, for you.”

“For me?”

Dean moves slightly in order to settle into Cas more comfortably, and wasn’t that just fucking awesome that he could do that? Settle into Cas? It was kinda like one of those things that piffles the back of your mind, it’s constantly there, every hug, every shared smirk, every argument. He’d wanted this for years, and it took being kidnapped by Chuck and a fake beach house to get it. But he’d take it. Because Sammy was safe and he could fucking _settle into Cas._

“You didn’t want to ask, Cas. And that’s what did it.”

He can feel the emotion on his angel, as if it is radiating through his skin into Dean’s soul. It’s warm, and inviting, and fucking _home_. It’d be as easy as breathing, kissing Cas. He could do it right now, move his head slightly, trace along his jaw, that cleft chin that sometimes drew more attention than his pale pink lips that were perfectly shaped. Then he’d be there, on those lips. He could meet them, kiss them, feel them, explore as much as Cas wanted. And he’d never want to stop until he could map out every crater, crevice, mound. And yup, that was enough thinking for this morning.

Dean clears his throat slightly and gets up, mumbling as he heads, somewhat hunched, to the bathroom. “Uh, I’m gonna shower.”

*******

Dean nods at Cas and Chuck as he makes his way to the kitchen after a longer than usual shower. Cas tilts his head at him, and Dean can see the fucking smirk. It’s minor, but it’s there, and Dean is so gonna make him pay for that later. In many ways. And yup, too much thinking, again.

Dean opens the fridge to see an absolutely beautiful platter of sausages. He smiles as he pulls them out and sits them on the counter. He opens the freezer to see a bag of frozen hash browns, and oh yeah, smothered hash browns for breakfast.

*******

The angel stands next to his brother, watching the King write on tanned leather in front of them. They move to stand behind him as he addresses his consort who asked the King why he was writing.

“To tell of how the world is under the sun and that there is no meaning in it alone”

“But why, when God is so present in everything and everyone around us, my King? Why say the world means nothing without Him?”

King Solomon sits back on his cushion and looks heavenward, his eyes squinted by the sun.

“Because, we shall tell of how it is on earth unaided by the heavens.”

Castiel allows one face to focus on Solomon and one to Uriel.

“He is wise, this human.”

Uriel turns one of his faces towards his brother. “To imagine a world without our Father, Castiel?”

“To issue a warning, Uriel. Can you not see the value in it, brother?”

The angel turns all his faces eastward, looking beyond the King and his brother beside him. He does not answer, and Castiel is once more drawn to Solomon.

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which was planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 KJV)

The angel wonders at the words, seeing earth for what it can offer alone. He is vaguely aware of time, but not as he knows the humans are. For he is infinite, and they are finite. He oft marvels at their expiry, wonders if that alone is what gives them meaning? If earth offers no meaning as the wise King suggests, then is their meaning to be found in their deaths since they will no longer be one with the earth but with their afterlife? Are their deaths what made their lives, their existences meaningful? The angel wonders alone in his thoughts, afraid to share them, afraid of the consequence. For angels were not supposed to think, lest they fall.

*******

Dean clicks his tongue as he hands Cas his plate. “Right?” He nods and inclines his head to the plate.

“It looks delicious, Dean, thank you.”

“Anything for you, Cas.” He offers with a wink.

Dean plops the other plate unceremoniously in front of Chuck, hoping the all-knowing being will get the not-so-subtle hint. He can feel Cas’s ‘don’t be stupid’ glare bore into his back as he gets his plate from the kitchen, but he decides not to care.

He notices a cup of coffee in his spot and wonders when Cas made it. It’s still steaming, which he figures is grace, and something he’s gonna have to ask about later because the angel should not be using it up on Dean’s coffee.

Okay, so the gesture may have gone straight to Dean’s soul, but still, Cas shouldn’t waste it on his coffee. With a smile he puts the mug to his lips.

*******

The corridor is dark, although not a hinderance to the Seraph. He summons his blade from the ether and relishes its weight in his hand. The metal is cool and reassuring. The angel walks on for what seems like miles, unable to find any source of light. The mission was to be him alone, his troops needed for another battle.

He hears a ‘whirring’ afar and follows the noise. A large fan built into the roof of the abandoned factory hums above him in steady rhythm. His eyes hold flames as a circle of holy oil is lit around him. The angel draws in his wings from another plane, so their feathers will not feel the scorching heat.

“Castiel.”

The voice is smooth, pleasant, like honey pouring from a jar. Castiel regards his captor.

“Zebuleon.”

The other angel walks around the circle, taunting his brother inside.

“You came alone. Foolish.”

Castiel does not answer, instead following Zebuleon with his eyes.

“This is in regards to the seals, yes?”

Castiel nods once, blade still held firmly in his palm.

“Ah. And what do your superiors think will occur if you were to kill me?”

“You are to preside at the end.”

“Yes. And what, my death will stop the end from happening?”

Castiel once more nods.

“You are running nothing but a fool’s errand. My death will not prevent anything.”

“It is foretold that as one of the nine you are to break a seal. My coming here was to prevent that.”

“And what seal was I to break, Castiel?”

“I know not.”

“Are they still telling you they are not omniscient, brother?”

Flames dance in blue eyes.

“We are not.”

“Oh yes, the royal ‘we’. ‘We’ laid siege to Hell.”

Castiel allows his curiosity to be piqued.

“How did you…”

“Know of our siblings taking credit for your victory? Come now brother, do you think I do not know the host? And you will tell him that, the Righteous Man?”

Castiel looks to the floor in front of him, unwilling to answer the angel who was to govern the end of times.

“I feel him on you.”

Castiel’s eyes snap up to look into the eyes of his brother.

“I am a unique angel, Castiel. I can look into an angel’s grace and their…” He pauses, looking for the right term, the perfect term. “Their wants are conveyed to me.”

Castiel’s eyes avert once more.

“He touched you in Hell, didn’t he? Or perhaps, did you touch him? I can feel his soul on you.”

Zebuleon closes his eyes and takes what appears to be a deep breath. “They will not allow you to remain long like this, brother. The heart of your grace reeks with him. They will soon see as I do now. Some unsolicited advice? Flee.”

“I am not amongst the fallen, nor will I ever be.”

Zebuleon smiles, a half-hearted gesture as he stares through Castiel’s vessel at the grace residing within.

“Castiel, I fear you do not have much of a choice.”

Anger surges through Castiel’s grace as he looks towards the roof of the building, the large fan spinning slowly. The Seraph summons rain from the firmament. The water pours in through the metal openings that allow the fan to process air, quelling the fire.

Damp hair clings to Castiel’s forehead, the trench coat is weighted with water, and he lunges forward, piercing Zebuleon through the chest, right where a heart might have been. Castiel backs up slowly, resolutely, as grace explodes from the vessel laying on the cold, wet, concrete floor. Wings splay on either side, and Castiel takes flight.

*******

“I forgot all about Zebuleon. He was kinda obscure.”

Dean risks a glance at Chuck as he puts the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher, and yup, he’s mad at the smug son-of-a-bitch. Who just forgets a kid? He slams the dishwasher door closed and gets his book off the dining room table.

He sits down and plops his feet onto the pillow Cas put on his lap. He smiles at the gesture from the angel.

“Okay, so uh… this dude could smell my soul on you? Creepy.”

Cas looks at him, a hint of a twinkle in his eye. “Yes, he could. He was correct as well, about the other angels.”

“Eh, that they’d know?”

“Yes.”

Chuck drums his finger on the touchpad of his laptop, a confused look on his features.

“Right, so uh, yeah, I guess it was pretty obvious, huh? Anyway, back to the story.”

*******

Uriel and Zachariah stand in front of Castiel. Zachariah leans back onto the desk, his arms folded. “There’s a seal you need to get your boys to save.”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “My boys?”

Zachariah rolls his eyes as he uncrosses his arms and walks over to an armchair that suddenly appeared from another plane. “Yeah, Dean and the other one.”

“Are we not capable of saving the seal?”

The trio is suddenly standing in front of a funeral home, warding encompassing the building. Castiel can feel the warding throughout his grace, attempting to weaken it, barring his entrance. He can feel the presence of a reaper inside and the smell of demons.

As soon as they came, they left, and Castiel was once more standing in front of Uriel with Zachariah in the armchair.

“Two reapers are killed under a solstice moon and bam, another seal breaks. Get it now?”

Castiel nods reluctantly.

“Great. So, get your boys on it.”

Castiel looks to the ceiling and speaks: “And what am I to tell them?”

“Eh, lets go with, hey, nobody in this town is dying, figure it out.”

Castiel licks his lips as he focuses on the angel sitting casually in the chair, as if his vessel were truly his and did not contain a soul.

“They…” Castiel hesitates as he looks once more at the ceiling. “They do not usually abide by my instruction.”

Zachariah shrugs as he exchanges a weighted glance with Uriel. “Figure it out.”

Castiel nods once before flying away, set to a task he is sure is doomed to fail.

The Seraph sits at a small table in a small coffee shop in a small town. A woman sits a cup of black coffee in front of him and smiles kindly.

“Hey, you okay? You look, I don’t know, troubled?”

Castiel made his vessel smile once, at a joke of Dean’s. He tried to replicate the gesture and it came out sad.

“Who do you trust?”

The woman shifts her weight from one foot to another. Any other man the question would be strange, perhaps even menacing, but this guy truly seemed to want to know.

“Well, I guess I trust my family, friends.”

Castiel nods. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. Umm… cream and sugar are on that stand over there if you need any.” She smiles sweetly, albeit a tad uncertainly, as she walks away.

Castiel watches as a patron leaves their cellular phone on a table as they use the restroom. He summons it to him and calls the number he knows is Sam’s. He mimics Bobby’s voice.

_“Hello.”_

“Sam, this is Bobby.”

_“Uh, yeah… hey Bobby. You okay?”_

“Fine. Listen, I need you to go to Greybull, Wyoming.”

_“Uh, okay, yeah sure, why?”_

“There have been no deaths there in the last ten days.”

_“Okay? Is that our kinda thing?”_

“They are simply not not dying Sam, they should be dying and they are not.”

_“Like what?”_

Castiel feels the need to sigh, but he is unsure how. “One man is shot point blank range in the heart, walks away. However, if you think…”

_“No, no, no you’re right, it’s definitely weird.”_

“Good. You two check it out, see what is up.”

_“Okay, Bobby, Thanks.”_

Castiel replaces the phone at the table and takes a sip of his coffee. He finds it somewhat agreeable, thinking of how the humans first discovered the beans. He smiles slightly, contemplating how far humanity has evolved. He cradles the cup in his hands, trying to feel the warmth through his vessel, but he cannot. He wonders sometimes, what it is like to be so fragile.

*******

“Dude.”

Castiel looks to Dean questioningly.

“How did Sam not know you weren’t Bobby? ‘What is up?’ Come on.”

Castiel rubs Dean’s shin slightly, he doesn’t want to answer, not really. He knows why Sam didn’t think to question, his mind was somewhere else.

Chuck, however, pipes up.

“Oh, yeah, he was distracted, thinking about his next hit.” To emphasize his point Chuck makes a drinking motion with his hand.

Cas squeezes Dean’s ankle, grounding him. Which was probably a good thing because he was going to say something incredibly stupid. Dean offers the angel a smile and picks his book back up.

*******

Castiel can sense him more than anything, the demon. He knows he is in the funeral home with Dean. He looks Heavenward, willing the host to act quickly. He sees a light that appears as a smiting, but knows it is simply a retrieval. The holiness of the host’s actions erases the warding, allowing Castiel entrance.

“What the Hell?” Dean mutters as Alastair disappears into the light.

Castiel’s grace fills with joy and pride, an emotion that is displayed upon his vessel’s face, knowing they captured the demon that tortured Dean and made the man shed blood in Hell.

“Guess again.”

He looks to Dean, hoping the man will for once see the good side of a thing. “What just happened, you and Sam just saved a seal, we captured Alastair. Dean, this was a victory.”

“Well, no thanks to you.”

Castiel feels a type of response in his grace, the red blooming deep inside calling to the man’s soul, but it doesn’t respond, it won’t. Perhaps, Castiel muses, it _can’t_.

“What makes you say that?” He wonders, truly. Did Dean not feel him, his presence, their connection?

“You were here the whole time?”

Ah, there it is, the reason. The man with the bright soul feels abandonment. Or something close to it, Castiel cannot reason what.

“Enough of it.” But he couldn’t get to him, couldn’t help, he could only watch, helpless as his would-be champion fought alongside his brother in a battle stance long since mastered.

“Well, thanks for your help with the rock salt.”

Castiel feels it then, the anger. And the angel surmises that Dean is correct, really. Watching Dean being hurt and not able to intervene did something to Castiel’s grace. It felt as if he were being torn into shreds, although he was safely and fully contained in his vessel. Dean’s soul called out to him when he was in danger or hurt, and Castiel’s grace responds in a way that denotes an invocation, albeit a sacred one. Castiel could not explain the feeling, and he would be remiss to try. Some feelings are unable to be explained, and therein lies their beauty.

Guilt encompasses him and a small oil well in Texas dries. He turns away from Dean and looks to the ground, his eyes safely averted from the man’s emerald ones. He tries to explain because that is all he can do.

“That script on the funeral home… we couldn’t penetrate it.”

_We_. The angel thinks upon Zebuleon.

“That was Angel-proofing?”

Castiel is very slightly relieved. Dean understands.

“Why do you think I recruited you and Sam in the first place?”

The Seraph looks to the Righteous Man once more, hoping to gain his trust by providing the truth, again.

“You recruited us?”

“That wasn’t your friend Bobby who called, Dean. It wasn’t Bobby who told Sam about the Seal.”

The truth. It was freeing in a way, but also left him vulnerable, without protection.

“That was you?”

He nods, his eyes meeting the coldness of the floor in a funeral home where two reapers were almost killed opening a seal to release his fallen brother. A floor where Dean was shot at with salt he knew penetrated his astral core. A floor which held his gaze because it did not judge like the emerald pools beside him.

“If you want our help, why the hell didn’t you just ask?”

This too, can be answered with the truth. A truth Castiel knows and feels all too well.

“Because whatever I ask, you seem to do the exact opposite.”

_Come with me. No._

“So what now, huh? The people in this town, they’re just gonna start dying again?”

“Yes.” It is right, the natural order of things, no matter how much it pulls at his grace, no matter how a human’s death rips at his core. It is how things, how humanity, is supposed to go.

“These are good people. What, you think you can make a few exceptions?”

Castiel thinks back to a King sitting on a cushion addressing his consort about a world held only in humanity’s eyes.

“To everything there is a season.”

“You made an exception for me.”

Castiel looks to him then, his champion. A man fighting for souls he feels he ought to save. A man who feels unworthy of being saved, of being the exception. If only he could see how truly good and worthy he was.

Castiel looks to him, his words coming easily and full of meaning he wishes he could convey with his true voice in his true form with everything there is in him:

“You’re different.”

*******

Chuck chuckles as he looks over the screen of his laptop. “That’s it, right there. Readers are gonna eat this up. Bestseller.”

“Does it count if you’re the one making the list?”

Cas grabs Dean’s ankle in warning, but it’s too late, it was said. Dean shrugs and makes a sort of mocking smile towards Cas prompting a bitchface Sammy would’ve been proud of.

Chuck’s head goes from shoulder to shoulder as he pretends to look like he’s contemplating something. “You’re right. Next time, I won’t pull strings, plant characters, people, whatever. I want this to sell all on its own, by its own merits. But you know, it’d be a shame if it had a tragic ending.”

Dean swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, a motion Cas follows closely with his eyes. He rubs Dean’s shin slowly back and forth. Dean finally stops looking at Chuck and makes eye contact with Cas. He nods at him, a silent communication indicating that he will, in fact, shut up. At least for now.

Chuck smiles, a terrifying thing that serves as a warning that he is not in fact a drunk writer in a bathrobe, but rather an all-powerful, all-knowing being who can end creation with a look. “That brings us to ‘On the Head of a Pin’.”

*******

Castiel looks around the near empty bar. He sits on a stool beside Zachariah, Uriel occupying the seat on the other side of their superior. Zachariah finishes the drink in his glass and indicates to the bartender he wants another. He waits for the man to walk away before addressing the angels in his command.

“Angels from your garrison are being killed.”

He allows the shock to be registered by his inferiors before continuing. Although with Uriel it was less shock more resignation; the emotion expected from an angel. Before Castiel could interrupt with whatever shock was going to come forth from his vessel’s lips, Zachariah continued.

“We have Alastair, I believe we can get the information we need about who is killing the host from him.”

“He is a high-ranking demon; I doubt he will fold easily.”

Zachariah rolls his eyes before looking to Castiel. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to torture him.”

The Seraph appears startled, a hint of confusion in a sea of blue. “He tortured souls in Hell, I saw him at work, we would be foolish to think any of our methods would cause him to divulge information.”

Zachariah’s lips pout in a sarcastic manner as he shrugs and takes a sip of his drink. “Right. Which is why we’re going to use his methods against him.”

“I do not understand.”

“Your pet, Castiel. Dean. He studied under him, he can torture him.”

Castiel feels his vessel form gooseflesh as his grace runs cold within him. The ice caps turn a fraction of a degree warmer. He remembers the face Dean had in Hell while he was cutting the flesh of the man on his rack. Castiel remembers being told ‘no’ because Dean felt as if he didn’t deserve to be saved. He could not believe the Father he served, the Father who sent the Son to show the world mercy could be so cruel as to order such a heinous act be done by one of his beloved.

“Our Father ordered this?”

“Do you think I would follow an order that was not issued by him, soldier?” Zachariah straightens in his seat, and a type of fury dances in eyes that did not belong to him.

Castiel shakes his head minutely as he looks at the top of the bar. He runs the fingernail of his forefinger in a groove someone carved with a pocketknife in order to make good on a dare.

_“Bet you won’t do it.”_

_“Shut up Red, you’re drunk.”_

_“And you’re a wimp.”_

_“I’ll show you.”_

And there it was, Red’s handiwork: a R.H. & T.W. carved into a top currently being read by an angel.

“I cannot ask this of him, not this.”

“You’re not going to. Uriel’s in charge of you now. See, all your responsibility and guilt just goes ‘swish’ out the window. And you can follow his orders now.”

Uriel’s smirk only fuels the fire simmering on top of the angel’s grace.

“I am being demoted?”

“Yup.” Zachariah stares straight in front of him at the top-shelf bourbon.

“Why?”

“Because you have shown, uh, what’s the word, what’s… the… word…?” Zachariah taps his forehead with his forefinger dramatically. “Sympathy.” He lowers his finger and smiles at Castiel with tight lips.

Castiel pulls his grace in tightly within his vessel, attempting to hide all trace of emotion, a thing which angels were never truly meant to have. He thinks better than correcting Zachariah, knowing his defense will be meaningless and possibly incriminating. He instead looks ahead of him, which, to the angels beside him, is in itself an admittance of guilt.

“So, Castiel, while Uriel and I sit here and talk shop, you can go create Alastair’s devil’s trap. Off you go.” With the shooing motion of Zachariah’s hands, Castiel flies away.

*******

“Dude, such a dick!”

Cas has been rubbing Dean’s feet for the last half hour or so and Dean would be wrong if he didn’t admit it was one of the best fucking feelings of his whole life. Here is an angel, a literal angel of the Lord, rubbing his feet because he _loved_ him, and if that right there just didn’t take the whole fucking cake.

Cas hums in a type of agreement. “Yes, Zachariah did have many rough edges.”

“Rough edges? Son, Dean is right, he was a dick.”

Dean looks to Chuck carefully, trying to hide any facial expression that could possibly betray him in any manner. Right now, he’s pissed at the guy. For the kidnapping, for the thinly veiled threat against Cas, for making Cas relive every painful memory of his existence, for Sam, for the kid, for a shit ton of shit. But he’s also very, very, as in an infinitesimal amount, mildly amused at his last comment. Maybe for the son, maybe for saying he was right, or maybe for his use of the word _dick_ , but whatever it was, there was a hint of amusement Dean tried to hide.

*******

Cas vaguely wondered why America had so many abandoned warehouses as he created an ancient trap laid for the strongest of Hell’s hordes. The work is busying yet allows his mind to wander. The warehouses, America’s move from industry to other forms of employment, that made sense now. He thought perhaps they could be renovated, transformed. The angel often thought there could be beauty where others saw only decay.

His work is stilled when he hears the cry of a sister, one of the members of his garrison. With grace heavy like cooled lead, he flies to find her, hoping with all that heavy grace he can get to her in time.

The noise affects him first. He walks by the cars blaring their horns and flashing lights that no one is around to hear, see, or care about. How could they be? There was nothing but death here, in the midst of the destruction. Castiel stills the loud noise with a reach of his hand, grace extending in long tendrils calming everything in its path. The silence is welcome and Castiel surveys his surroundings, praying for a miracle.

He walks past the overturned cars and the wreckage until he sees her. His sister, laying on the cold, wet asphalt, blonde hair surrounding her vessel’s face. He bends down next to her, removing the cloth hiding the fatal wound displayed on the upper portion of her chest. Castiel’s hope fades, and words befitting the humanity he is so fond of escape his lips:

“Goodbye, sister.”

He knows he can remain no longer as he hears sirens approach from behind his crouched form. He stands and flies back to the warehouse and his unfinished work.

Castiel walks around his trap once, twice, three times, ensuring it is perfect, sound, and true. He grabs hold of the iron pentagram in the center and shakes. It does not give way to his angelic strength and he deems it safe.

Safe. What an odd word to attribute to such an unsafe task. Perhaps yes, Dean would not, could not be physically harmed. But what of the wounds that could not heal? What of the wounds that would be ripped open as if they never stopped bleeding with flashbacks of Hell? What of those? Castiel’s grace is still heavy, solid lead in unforgiving veins.

He turns as his brother Uriel and four other angels from his garrison arrive with Alastair in tow. He laughs, a putrid, smooth noise as they attach him with the iron chains to the iron star.

“Well, well, well, lookie here, six angels for one little ole’ me? Well, I am flattered.”

Uriel punches the demon once, twice, three times across the face, prompting another slick laugh. Castiel averts his eyes to the trap, ensuring its safety once more.

Alastair spits out blood, red salvia mere centimeters away from Uriel’s shoe. “You’ll have to do better than that. Your boys upstairs already tried, but you already knew that didn’t you, hum? That’s why you brought me down here, to a different plane, more… tangible.”

Uriel smiles, a disingenuous gesture. “Oh don’t worry, _we_ won’t be doing anything at all.”

*******

Cas squeezes Dean’s calf, prompting the man to lower his book to his chest to look at him.

“You okay, Cas?”

“Fine. Would you like to not be present for this next section?”

Dean thinks, really truly thinks. He knows relieving his torture session with that absolute piece of slimy shit won’t be the most pleasant experience, but then again, here was Cas. Cas who needed him in order to tell his story and who was Dean to deny him that? I mean, this was the angel who gave up everything, multiple times, for _him_. This was the angel Dean told he was the something that always went wrong. And that angel decided to fucking love him anyway. Yeah, was this gonna suck? Probably. But Cas _needed_ him, and he’d always needed Cas, so:

“Nah, I’m good.” Dean picks his book back up before muttering: “You can keep doing the feet thing.”

Bewilderment mixed with a very, very (as in a sliver of a sliver) slight affection is held in ancient eyes that ever so slightly peep over a screen.

*******

Castiel stands behind Uriel in the dark motel room. A room which looks like any other the Winchesters stay in, but this one seems more foreboding. He knows his orders, his job, but can’t help wondering why his Father would ask this of him, of Dean. He knew angels’ deaths were tragic, unacceptable, knew they needed answers. However, he wondered, as Castiel often did, if there could be another way. This time it was out of his hands.

“Home, crappy home.” He heard Dean utter as the brothers enter the room. Dread fills Castiel, adding to the weight of his grace, and a rare tropical bird no longer hatches with orange plumage.

“Winchester and Winchester.” Uriel draws out as Sam turns on the light.

Just like Castiel expects him to, Dean responds.

“Oh, come on!”

“You are needed.”

Uriel was either doling out oddly specific anatomical insults or being so brief it bordered on insufficient, Castiel mused as he tried to feel less insignificant.

“Needed?” Dean again. A certain type of pride swells within the angel for his charge.

“We just got back from being needed!” Castiel can feel the anger radiate from the hunter, he can feel Dean’s anger in his grace and the emotion lightens the load just a bit.

“Now, you mind your tone with me.”

Cas started slightly at Uriel’s words. Dean was his charge, he was the one to save his soul from the pit, him, not Uriel, not Zachariah, not anyone, him. And it was he with whom Dean’s soul connected in perdition.

“No, you mind your damn tone with us.”

The pride continued to swell, lessening the burden Castiel carried in his form.

Sam intervenes, ostensibly afraid Uriel would hurt his brother. Which, to be fair, was not that much of a leap.

“We just got back from Pamela’s funeral.”

“Pamela… you know, psychic Pamela?”

_“Turn back now!”_

“You remember her. Cas, you remember her. You burned her eyes out.”

Of course, he remembered. How could he not? Guilt flows through him, taking away the levity pride offered.

He looks to him then, his Righteous Man and would-be champion. The man he only truly wants to just _understand_.

“Remember that? Good times!”

Dean’s gaze is turned back to Uriel, and Cas is relieved by the absence of wrath.

“Yeah, then she died saving one of your precious seals. So maybe you can stop pushing us around like chess pieces for five frickin’ minutes.”

Anger surges through Castiel, but it is not his own. It bubbles, boils under his vessel’s skin.

“We raised you out of Hell for our purposes.”

Castiel’s mind wanders at Uriel’s words and he knows that even if it hadn’t been ordered he would have raised Dean’s soul anyway, if he’d ever seen it. Something so bright should never be in a place so dark.

“Yeah, and what were those again? What exactly do you want from me?”

Castiel often wondered what the answer to that very question was. He knew Dean was to be Michael’s sword, his true vessel, but for what purpose? Lucifer, yes, but they could stop the demons, he knew they could. There was something amiss, and Castiel wondered what exactly that was.

“Start with gratitude.”

That was too much, that was too far. At Dean’s sarcastic “Oh”, Castiel intervened:

“Dean, we know this is difficult to understand.”

“And _we_ …”

Castiel knows Uriel’s look, knows the command held in the angel’s eyes. He is silenced, perhaps from fear, perhaps from respect, he doesn’t know, but he stills.

“Don’t… Care…”

Cas looks directly in front of him, away from Uriel, away from Dean. If only he didn’t care, then everything would be so much simpler, make so much more sense. But how could any type of being exist and not care about Dean Winchester?

“Now, seven angels have been murdered… all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight.”

“Demons?”

Castiel feels Uriel’s nod to Dean’s question. He can’t see because he is looking away, but there seems something odd in the gesture from the feel of it alone, and he can’t quite make it out.

“How they doing it?”

Castiel wonders at all the layers of meaning behind Dean’s question.

“We don’t know.”

Angels being murdered was almost unheard of, they were cosmic beings of great power, and they were essentially without weakness. Demons systematically killing them was unheard of, and the idea of demonic angelic killings was almost bizarre; and yet, here they were.

“I’m sorry, but what do you want us to do about it?”

Castiel admired Sam Winchester, he truly did. He was fascinated by the flicker, but it was more than that. There was something about Sam that made him seem pure almost, although the blood still residing in him made him anything but.

“I mean, a demon with the juice to ice angels has to be out of our league, right?”

And here it was, the truth, the reason, the demand which gave Cas a gnawing feeling in the pit of his grace.

“We can handle the demons, thank you very much.”

Not the truth, a quip, which was very Uriel. Cas would roll his eyes, if he knew how to make his vessel cooperate. He interrupts again, agitated with Uriel’s inability to just tell the truth.

“Once we find whoever it is.” They didn’t know, not truly. That’s why they needed Dean, and Dean deserved to know.

“So, you need our help… hunting a demon?”

Castiel finds the strength he needs in offering Dean the truth and walks forward, answering Dean directly.

“Not quite. We have Alastair.”

“Great.”

It is between them now, the conversation, the tension, the faint trace of heat.

“He should be able to name your triggerman.”

“But he won’t talk. Alastair’s will is very strong. We’ve arrived at an impasse.”

“Yeah well, he’s like a black-belt in torture. You guys are out of your league.”

Castiel’s grace tightens even more as he feels Uriel’s will to speak.

“That’s why we’ve come to his student.”

Uriel’s words spark something in Dean that Castiel is disheartened to feel. The emotion is painful to his grace, their connection willing for an intervention.

“You happen to be the most qualified interrogator we’ve got.”

He has to make it better somehow, make the feeling go away, or at least lessen.

“Dean… you’re our best hope.”

Castiel means it, or at least he thinks he does. It is ordered, it is right. It had to be.

“No.”

If only it were that simple. This isn’t a job the angel wants to ask Dean to accomplish. His grace constricts at the mere thought, but it was ordered.

“No way. You can’t ask me to do this Cas, not this.”

The name Dean endeared him with in Hell. The name only a few called him by, and it hit him, its use, like a punch in the gut from an archangel. He looks into Dean’s eyes, searching, and he sees his soul, and it’s bright, but he’s scared, terrified, and Cas’s fear responds to it. Or perhaps it was regret?

Uriel chuckles as he moves closer to Dean, and Castiel freezes. He can’t seem to move, even though he tries. He stays in his spot, unable to interfere because he is no longer Uriel’s commander, no longer in charge because he _feels_ for the man in front of him. The man he would protect with his last wavelength of celestial intent.

“Who said anything about asking?”

*******

Cas can feel Dean shift slightly and he moves from his foot to his shin, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion. Dean moves his feet, sits up, turns the pillow over and lays his head in Cas’s lap instead.

He looks into the blue eyes he so often considered home. Cas smiles down at him sweetly, sadly, and begins to play with his hair. Dean can see the tiniest traces of tears in a sea of blue and he grabs Cas’s hand with his own.

“It’s okay, Cas.”

Castiel nods, a solemn thing, and continues.

*******

Castiel and Dean stand in front of a pane of glass held within a dirty door. They gaze at a bound demon who tortured souls in Hell and relished in it. Castiel’s grace settles heavily, and he attempts to alleviate some of his guilt by reassuring Dean the trap is impenetrable.

“This Devil’s trap is old Enochian, he’s bound completely.”

He can feel Dean’s hesitation, his pain, and tendrils reach out to a handprint in a gesture of comfort as the man turns around.

“Fascinating. Where’s the door?”

“Where are you going?”

He truly wants to know, does Castiel. It comes off accusatory he realizes. And perhaps it was. Dean should know by now, as did the Seraph, resistance often proved futile.

“Hitch back to Cheyenne, thank you very much.”

Castiel very much wishes he could ‘hitch’ whatever that entailed. However, Uriel intervenes as the angel knew he would.

“Angel’s are dying, boy.”

“Everybody’s dying these days.”

Guilt floods Castiel once more, a weighty, painful thing. It ran through his vessel’s veins like molasses.

“And hey, I get it, you’re all-powerful. You can make me do whatever you want, but you can’t make me do this.”

The last part of the sentence was directed to him, and Castiel felt it in his core. He answers, truthfully.

“This is too much to ask, I know.” He walks to him, willing him to understand. Whatever it was exactly he needed to understand. “But we have to ask it.”

The ‘we’ again.

Blue searches green, as Dean contemplates. He eventually looks to Uriel.

“I want to talk to Cas alone.”

Castiel expects push back, he expects a resounding ‘no’, but he is surprised by Uriel’s words.

“I think I’ll go seek… revelation. We might have some further orders.”

Castiel wonders what type of _orders_ could possibly follow this.

“Well, get some doughnuts while you’re out.”

Uriel laughs, a gesture that freezes Castiel’s vessel’s blood. “Ah, this one just won’t quit will he? I think I’m starting to like you, boy.” With a smile that is just as chilling as the laugh, Uriel leaves.

Dean turns to him, “You guys don’t walk enough, you’re going to get flabby.”

Like so many things that come out of the mouth of the righteous man, Castiel does not understand ‘flabby’, so he scrunches his eyes in a confused manner, a gesture that translates very well on his vessel.

“You know I’m starting to think junkless has a better sense of humor than you do.”

Humor, a fairly foreign concept to an angel, although they did have some jokes they shared amongst themselves. Uriel was known for retelling them well.

“Uriel’s the funniest angel in the garrison. Ask anyone.”

Castiel is unable to read Dean’s expression, but it seems to be a more lightened version of exasperation. The angel begins to feel the return of a now familiar heat as Dean walks closer to him.

“What’s going on Cas? Since when does Uriel put you on a leash?”

He noticed. Of course he noticed. Castiel decides to offer Dean the truth, because the man deserved it.

“My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.”

“Your sympathies?”

“I was getting too close to the humans in my charge. You.”

Eye contact, grace reaching out to soul, heat.

“They feel I’ve begun to express emotions, the doorways to doubt. This can impair my judgment.”

He looks away then, because he feels he has to, because the heat was becoming too much.

“Well, tell Uriel or whoever…”

His move was unsuccessful because Dean simply moved to be in front of him. And there it was again, although it never truly left. The tension that could almost be reached out to and grabbed. Castiel almost imagined a fist holding a pile of embers.

“You do not want me doing this, trust me.”

Castiel is almost grateful Dean moves to look into the glass, away from him. He intakes oxygen and lets the element ground his grace.

“ _Want_ it? No. But I’ve been told we _need_ it.”

He can feel it then – Dean’s fear. It radiates from his soul like the heat waves from a car’s engine on a warm day. Cas can feel it, and he regrets, he doubts, and he _feels_.

“You ask me to open that door and walk through it… you will not like what walks back out.”

The truth, Dean deserves the truth. He deserves Cas’s truth. He deserves all the angel can give right now, and he will give it to him.

“For what it’s worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.”

He meant it, every word. He would give his life and float among the ether if he knew Dean did not have to go into that room.

Dean doesn’t say a word as he walks towards the room with the cart full of instrumentations of torture, determination in his shoulders. Cas feels the red bloom and a sliver of his grace’s hope die simultaneously.

*******

If Dean wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was in head over heels fucking love with the angel before, he sure as hell knew it now. Cas’s hand moved to his chest, and Dean knew he was feeling his heartbeat.

Cas’s head was lowered, his exquisite blue eyes closed as if trying to avoid the pain. He rubbed his thumb slightly back and forth across Dean’s sternum, and Dean put his hand on top of his angel’s.

“Babe?” It’s almost a whisper, because it’s their word, a sacred thing Dean doesn’t want to share. It’s intimate, and Chuck should not hear it, but Cas needed to.

Oceanic eyes open and smile slightly.

“Yes?”

Dean’s eyes search the Seraph’s earnestly, honestly, willing the being to understand he was okay, this was okay, he was still here, and he still _needed_ him.

“I’m good, Cas. Remember, you and Sammy?”

Cas smiles with his lips this time, and Dean feels fucking butterflies (how the hell was that actually even a thing?) in his stomach. He does something so chick-flicky, something so incredibly Lifetime he almost pukes in his mouth. He picks Cas’s hand up from his chest, kisses the palm, and replaces it.

Grateful blues are now met with green, and grace and soul reach to one another in a type of peace.

An ancient being surveys the tableau in front of him, vague emotions running throughout his contrived form. In every world where Dean Winchester and Castiel meet, they always end up like this. These two were the last to follow suit. But Chuck had to admit, these were the best stories. I mean, yeah, the apocalypse world was kind of interesting, but it had no Sam and Dean, and really, what even was a world without them? The angels there were frickin’ badass though. HunterCorp world was just really strange, ascots and pocket squares were involved. And man buns.

The Croatian Universe proved the second most interesting, and Chuck spent quite a bit of time there. He watched as Cas and Dean constantly got together and pushed the other away again and again, like the ocean and the tide. He watched their love blossom, die, and bloom again from a crack in the sidewalk. Cas knew he was a decoy, but he was okay with it because Dean needed him to be, and Dean was going to be the hero. And even though they both moved their way through the camp, they only really every truly loved each other. And while Dean had become hard and callous, Cas became a shell of what he was. But at the end of every day, it was them, and everyone knew it. Chuck thought that story would sell millions of copies if he ever took the time to write it.

But these two in front of him? Chuck pushed them together in the end, their end, everyone’s end. Yeah, okay, he wanted the ending where either Sam or Dean killed the other, because, come on, that was a fantastic ending, it just was. But this? This was a love story, and Chuck was getting that. Maybe, just maybe, Chuck was writing the greatest love story ever told, through the eyes of an angel.

“Can we get back to the story now?”

Cas and Dean regard him casually as Cas begins stroking Dean’s chest with his thumb.

“Yeah, okay? Good.”

*******

Castiel watches helplessly as Dean wheels the cart into the room where a powerful demon is tied to a pentagram of iron contained within an ancient trap. A sick feeling weighs in the stomach of his vessel, and he wonders if this is what it feels like to be hapless.

Screams leave the room and Castiel strains vainly not to hear them. He leans against a table, appreciating the support the furniture offers his vessel. He looks to the room as groans escape the demon from Dean’s inflicting pain. Pain racks the angel as well, his charge reliving his experiences in Hell on earth, an experience that was never meant to happen.

The table has become an immeasurable support as Castiel waits while the Righteous Man tortures. His interest is averted as the lights begin to flicker and the one above him explodes. He feels her, their graces communing in the air between them.

“Anna.”

“Hello, Castiel.”

He forces himself to look back at her, wondering if she remembers now. Their connection all those years ago, their forbidden act, their communion.

“Your human body…”

It is all he can think of to say in the moment, something insignificant because there is too much to say for any other utterance to be anything but.

“It was destroyed. I know. But…”

He can feel her advancing toward him. A type of feeling flows throughout his grace in small, slight waves. It was akin to anxiety, and it was unpleasant.

“I guess I’m sentimental. Called in some old favors and…”

Castiel wants her there, bathes in her presence and the soothing nature of her grace, but she is a fugitive, one he is ordered to kill on sight.

“You shouldn’t be here. We still have orders to kill you.”

“Somehow, I don’t think you’ll try.”

He would not, even if he could.

He watches with barely moving eyes as she moves to a position in front of him, beside the table.

“Where’s Uriel?”

“He went to receive revelation.”

“Right.”

Anna turns to him, her human face accusatory. It is a painful sight for the angel, and he tries to avoid her gaze.

“Why are you letting Dean do this?”

If only he knew, truly. But it was an order, and an order was right, it was just.

“He’s doing God’s work.”

“Torturing? That’s God’s work? Stop him, Cas, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have.”

The nickname meant so much from her, from him. The angel could not help but compare the feelings, _feelings_ he had for each. Dean was so much more than a weapon, so much more than a body. He was soul, and that soul was beautiful. But he was no longer in command, no longer in charge. Orders.

“Who are we to question the will of God?”

“Unless… this isn’t his will.”

Words uttered from grace he knew intimately, grace he was once almost one with. Words he knew, deep inside a pit in the middle of his wavelengths were quite possibly true. Doubt.

“Then where do the orders come from?”

“I don’t know, one of our superiors maybe. But not him.”

Anna moves closer to him, and he can feel tendrils reaching out to one another.

“The Father you love… you think he wants this? You think he’d ask this of you? You think this is Righteous?”

Doubt. All throughout him. She moves even closer to him now, their vessels almost touching. Where with Dean there is heat, with Anna is almost a type of ice, but they seem to be equally enticing. He had experienced heat with her before, when they were joined. He wants to recapture the feeling, the peace, the pleasant burning, the strong waves.

“What you’re feeling… it’s called doubt.”

Oh how he knew that. He knew that all too well. He hears Alastair’s groans of pain and shuts his eyes against it, willing it just all to end.

Anna reaches for his hand, and the connection of their vessels is not unlike a connection of grace. It is a familiar gesture between them.

“These orders are wrong. And you know it.”

Castiel looks down at their touching hands. Wrong, forbidden.

“But you can do the right thing. You’re afraid, Cas. I was too. But together, we can…”

That is four words too many. Together, she left their _together_ , and now the bloom in the pit of his grace was not for her, but for the human beyond that door.

“Together?” He wrenches his hand away, breaking their connection. “I am nothing like you.” _You left me._ “You fell.”

He walks back to the door, no longer under Anna’s trance, their grace miles apart in a small space.

“Go.”

“Cas.” She pleads, and he can hear the hope in her voice, and he takes a slight pleasure in squashing it. _You left_. He turns around to face her harshly.

“Go.”

Even though he ordered her departure, the angel is still saddened to hear the slight rustle of wings.

Castiel stands, in silence, listening. He hears nothing, feels Dean’s panic and pain and rushes into the room to see Alastair choking Dean against the pentagram. He stabs him in the shoulder with the ancient knife that was in the Righteous Man’s possession, and it barely affects the demon. The demon pushes him onto the ground.

“Oh almost.”

Cas gets up to face him again, righteous fury running throughout his grace in large, rippling waves.

“Looks like God is on my side today.”

Castiel loathes the being in front of him. He knows he cannot smite him since the demon is too powerful, but he knows he must fight, for Dean. He raises his hand to twist the knife still lodged in Alastair’s shoulder.

The demon’s grunts of pain bring a slight pleasure, and Castiel advances further. He is disheartened when Alastair pulls the knife out with a grimace. Castiel braces for hand to hand as Alastair charges him with a grunt.

They trade blows for blows until the demon gets the upper hand and impales Castiel onto a hook on the wall. He hangs him there by pushing his vessel more on top of it, as if he were a coat on a rack. It hurts, and he is bloody. These are two uncommon occurrences for a celestial being, and once again he resigns himself to the ether and wonders if it will bring a type of peace.

“You know… Like roaches, you celestials. I really wish I knew how to kill you. But all I can do is send you back to Heaven.”

Castiel vainly paws at the arm holding him by the neck. If he were exorcised, Jimmy would be at the mercy of the demon, and vessels were considered ‘useful’ to them and he would be tortured, and his family… Castiel vowed to protect them.

“Omnipotentis dei potestatem invoco”

Where Alastair called upon the power of Hell before, he was now invoking the omnipotent power of God to send Castiel back. The angel fights vehemently against him, willing his grace to stay within his vessel to protect him.

“Omnipotentis dei potestatem invoco”

”Omnipotentis dei potestatem invoco”

He can feel his grace leaving his form as he battles against it. His form is relieved when Alastair appears to start choking.

Castiel slumps down the wall as Sam pins Alastair against the wall with his powers. Castiel is shaken, both from the ordeal and Sam’s power.

“Stupid pet tricks.”

Sam’s hand is splayed towards the demon as he demands: “Who’s murdering the angels? How are they doing it?”

Castiel looks, wonders. He is slightly fearful, having never felt so helpless before in his existence.

“You think I’m gonna tell you?”

Castiel almost hears a hint of fear, and he enjoys it.

“Yeah, I do.” Sam’s resoluteness is apparent in the square of his shoulders and the twist of his outstretched hand.

Alastair’s eyes roll back in his head and he begins gagging. Castiel’s eyes go from Sam to the demon.

“How are the demons killing angels?”

Between labored breaths and obvious pain, the demon mutters, slowly: “I… don’t… know.”

“Right.”

Sam clenches his fist, earning more grunts from the demon completely in his command.

“It’s… not… us.” Labored, painful, and… truthful?

Castiel looks to Sam, bewildered.

“We’re not… doing… it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

With foam erupting from his mouth which only moments before taunted Dean in a snot-like voice he utters, “Lilith… is not behind this.”

Castiel is stunned, knowing somehow Alastair is more than likely being truthful.

“She wouldn’t kill seven angels. She’d kill a hundred, a thousand.”

Sam takes a steeling breath and lowers his hand, gathering strength.

“Oh, go ahead, send me back… if you can.”

“I’m stronger than that now. Now I can kill.”

Castiel looks to Sam with a mixture of shock and horror as the younger Winchester raises his hand. Kill? Was he ever meant to kill? Is this what was meant by chosen _ones_?

The angel watches with shock and amusement as Sam closes his eyes, focuses, and kills the demon from within, leaving a slumped, abused vessel behind.

He looks to Sam questioningly, with a hint of judgement and horror. Sam meets the gaze and looks away.

*******

“That story’s a hell of a lot more entertaining when it’s seen from somewhere other than passed out on the floor.” Dean shrugs.

“Sam… he saved me. He saved Jimmy. But I was terrified, although I couldn’t pin down that emotion at the time.”

“Damn straight. You couldn’t even smite the bastard and Sammy killed him? Yeah, pretty scary, Cas.”

“I wish I had only acknowledged sooner you were both righteous men.”

Dean smiles with the left side of his mouth as he looks up into the angel’s face. He gives him a slight wink and replaces the book in front of his face.

“Okay… uh, hospital.” Chuck gives a smile that is too smiley, and Castiel continues.

*******

“It is our fault he is injured; I do not see why I cannot…”

Zachariah puts up a hand. Castiel looks to the side, shoulders squared, and face set.

“Because, soldier, you cannot heal unless given permission to do so.” Zachariah makes a type of tsking noise with his mouth. “Thought you learned your lesson with that waitress.”

Castiel gives him only a slight glance before looking away again.

“Then, what am I to do?”

Zachariah shrugs. “I don’t know? Sit on a cloud? Play a harp? I don’t really care what you do as long as it’s not _disobeying_. Which, with your record, could be a bit of a problem. So, you called me, reported. Demon’s dead, he lied, so uh… you failed, again.”

Zachariah folds his hands in front of him. “Because of Dean Winchester, again. So yeah, you can’t heal him, got it?”

Castiel nods, a slight thing, defiance written on every facial feature and angle of his vessel’s form.

“Good. Now go, I don’t wanna look at you for a while.”

A Seraph who had become to _feel_ as if were second nature, looks through the window of a small, ranch-style home in Boulder, Colorado. A couple dance around their modest living room with a small child in her father’s arms. They recently adopted her, as her mom died in a tragic accident, that Castiel knew was not accidental. He followed her daughter’s journey, ensured her safety and care. She was safe now, and she was going to be given a chance. He closes his eyes and looks towards the firmament, knowing his next stop will not be a pleasant one.

He looks into the hospital room Dean is currently occupying, hooked up to too many machines. He cannot look, not really. He makes eye contact with Sam, wishing for the man to follow him into the hallway.

“Sam.”

“Get in there and heal him. Miracle. Now.”

How he wishes he could. He thinks back to a little girl being loved in Colorado.

“I can’t.”

“You and Uriel put him in there.”

He was right, Castiel knew he was right, but he couldn’t admit to that, because that would make him…

“No.”

“Because you can’t keep a simple Devil’s trap together.”

He broke it, he broke it, how did he break it?

“I don’t know what happened, that trap…”

It was secure, it was sound, it was perfect, he checked, multiple times. He looks away, ashamed, angry.

“It shouldn’t have broken, I am sorry.”

He looks once more into hazel, missing the green.

“This whole thing was pointless, you understand that? The demons aren’t doing the hits. Something else is killing your soldiers.”

He knows there could be truth there, but he hopes there isn’t.

“Perhaps Alastair was lying.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

Sam walks away as Castiel is filled with an emotion is has been so full of recently: doubt.

*******

“Any ideas for a title for this chapter?”

Dean and Cas regard Chuck with a complete and total look of utter boredom.

“Geez, tough crowd.”

*******

He seeks out Uriel and finds him on a park bench. A location they have shared together many times, watching humanity. Castiel has never before been this weighted when meeting his brother before. He is full of doubt, worry, and fear.

“Castiel.”

He cannot answer, for there is nothing to say.

“I received revelation from our superiors.”

Castiel doubts even that, his eyes easily find the ground.

“Our brothers and sisters are dying and they…”

Uriel appears distraught and Castiel wonders.

“They want us to stop hunting the demon responsible.”

Castiel moves to sit next to him, the snow crunching under the weight of his vessel’s feet.

“Something is wrong up there, I mean, can you feel it?”

He speaks, for the first time since their meeting to try and feel out this conversation, and Uriel’s beliefs.

“The murders… maybe they aren’t demonic. Sam Winchester said the demons had nothing to do with it.”

And for some reason he couldn’t fully explain, he _trusted_ Sam. It was a feeling he knew he would be admonished for, but a feeling he could not hide nonetheless.

“If not the demons, what could it be?”

He thinks, ponders. Maybe this was supposed to be, maybe this was happening for a reason.

“The will of Heaven. We are failing, Uriel. We are losing the war. Perhaps the garrison is being punished.”

Lucifer could not rise, and they were losing at so many turns. Castiel did not understand, not really, How could he? They were angels, they were infallible, and they were losing against a bunch of demons. This could not be right, not completely. Or for that matter, at all.

“You think our Father would…”

“I think maybe our Father isn’t giving the orders anymore.”

If he were, his father, the creator who believed in and loved humanity, would Dean Winchester be suffering in a hospital right now?

“Maybe there is something wrong.”

Uriel stands and looks heavenward. “Well, I won’t wait to be gutted.”

Castiel watches as he flies away and then he is once more left alone.

The angel makes the decision to seek counsel from a most beloved sister. He waits till the cover of the darkness of night and stands below a streetlamp, calling her name.

“Anna?”

He turns and cries out once more in a barely audible whisper: “Anna, please.”

He sees the streetlight flicker and then feels her behind him. He turns to look at her, pleased and relieved she appeared.

“Decided to kill me after all?”

Perhaps he deserved that, he didn’t know.

Earnestly, with pleading eyes he utters: “I’m alone.”

“What do you want from me, Castiel?”

How was he to phrase this in a way that included all of its implications? There was something _wrong_ in Heaven. There were plans he was not privy to, plans that included his charge. His…

“I’m considering disobedience.”

His grace drew in at the mere mention, and small, sickening waves, much like a small boat would experience while sailing in a squall, flow throughout his grace.

Her answer is short and all-encompassing: “Good.”

He cannot believe that. This could not possibly be _good._

“No. It isn’t. For the first time, I feel.”

But only it wasn’t, not really. But it was the first time it mattered, the first time he thought about breaking the rules of Heaven and falling. The first time because of _him_.

“It gets worse.”

Castiel looks down and away, fearing so many things.

“Choosing your own course of action, it’s confusing.” She moves closer with each word, and there it is again, the ice. “It’s terrifying.”

She reaches out to him, her hand on his shoulder. He looks to it. Not in malice, or disgust, but in fear of feeling how he did once when their graces combined. She misreads him and withdraws her hand.

“That’s right. You’re too good for my help. I’m just trash.”

He looks to her then, hurt by her words against herself and the implication regarding him.

“A walking blasphemy.”

He doesn’t want her to go. He wants her, maybe even needs her. She understands. He wants her to instruct him, give him orders. Not because it is a type of habit, but because he wants a type of instruction only she can provide. An instruction that can come from centuries of intimate trust.

“Anna…”

She stops and he continues. “I don’t know what to do. Please tell me what to do.”

_Please understand_.

She turns around, and offers him a wistful smile, and he immediately knows from the gesture he will be so very much on his own.

“Like the old days?”

He wants to say no, wants to say we can make new days, you and me, like you offered when you took my hand. But he can’t, he’s scared, he runs cold, and a small population of fish that are only found in the Amazon river find their way to other streams.

“No. I’m sorry. It’s time to think for yourself.”

Castiel watched humanity for centuries. He often wondered why they would sometimes literally crumble when they received devastating news, or why they would scream out, but he understood more now. He was utterly and completely alone, and that was petrifying.

His eyes scan to a water fountain and he observes the handle. Water, leaking plumbing, plumbing that can be easily manipulated. The trap was meant to be destroyed, and not by a demon.

He flies to the warehouse and walks over to the trap he worked so diligently on. He notices the erasure of the paint by water damage and looks above him, his eyes easily finding the pipe that was the culprit. He stands and follows the pipe to where it is controlled by a spigot. He notices the water was turned on, and he extends his grace to turn it off.

Dread fills the angel like a lead balloon. He knows the trap was intentionally ruined, by an angel. One who knew their location. That meant it had to either be Zacariah, Uriel, or Anna. Anna would never hurt Dean, or him. That left Zachariah, who could possibly be the culprit, or Uriel. Uriel who seemed to be acting oddly lately. Uriel, who questioned his ‘revelation’. He sends up a silent prayer to his brother, urging him to join him. He must know the truth.

Uriel enters the room, and the dread settles, knowing he will soon have answers, even if they are ones he does not like.

“You called? What do you say Castiel? Will you join me? Will you fight with me?”

It is painful, this feeling. The angel is not accustomed to it nor does he like it. He will not fight alongside Uriel anymore, he knows this, and the realization strikes him as a human strikes a match.

“It’s strange… strange how… a leaky pipe can undo the work of angels, when we ourselves… are supposed to be the agents of fate.”

He looks to his brother, an accusation apparent in blue eyes.

“Alastair was much more powerful than we imagined.”

“No.” Simple, direct, to the point. And Castiel said it with conviction. “No demon can overpower that trap. I made it myself.”

Castiel knows now, fully, and knows what he must do. He is acting _alone_. He walks towards the other angel as he speaks.

“We’ve been friends for a long time Uriel. Fought by each other’s sides. Served together away from home… for what seems like… forever.”

He was standing directly in front of him now, facing him. “We’re brothers, Uriel. Pay me that respect, tell me the truth.”

He knew he was asking for a great deal, asking for something the angel was very hesitant to give.

“The truth is… the only thing that can kill an angel…” Uriel pauses as he pulls his blade from the ether and places it in his palm and holds it in front of his face. “Is another angel.”

And there it is, the admission. The everything Castiel knew but hoped wasn’t there. The orders weren’t true, they weren’t good, they weren’t righteous. His righteous man almost died.

“You.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Fury rages through him, replacing the dread.

“And you broke the Devil’s trap, set Alastair on Dean.”

Dean. The red deep in the pit of his grace surges, fueled by the fury.

“Alastair should never have been taken alive. Really, inconvenient, Cas.”

_Not your nickname._

“Yes, I did turn the screw a little. Alastair should’ve killed Dean and escaped, and you should’ve gone on happily scapegoating the demons.”

Dean, and their siblings. Uriel was happy to kill them all.

“For the murders of our kin?”

“Not murders, Castiel, no. My work… is conversion.”

What? What was this? Castiel is confused as he is unsure of what is truly going on inside his brother’s mind.

“How long have we waited here? How long have we played this game by rules that make no sense?”

Castiel cannot believe the words out of his brother’s mouth. Murdering is one thing, but to justify it? To make it _right_?

“It is our Father’s world, Uriel.” Castiel turns from his brother, unable to look at him.

“Our Father? He stopped being that, if he ever was, the moment he created _them_.”

Oh, it was hatred for humanity. The beings Castiel admired so much.

“Humanity. His favorites. His whining, puking larvae.”

He wonders if:

“Are you trying to convert me?”

“I wanted you to join me, and I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to…”

Castiel’s anger is present just below his vessel’s skin. Humanity, his Father’s greatest creations.

“To?”

“To raise our brother.”

Grace flows cold in an angel born from a star.

“Lucifer.”

“You do remember him. How strong he was… how beautiful… and he didn’t bow to humanity. He was punished for defending us. Now, if you wanna believe in something, Cas, believe in him.”

Believe in the great deceiver? The one who wanted to hurt Father so much he corrupted humanity simply because he could? He would rather believe in himself, and very soon, in two brothers.

“Lucifer is not God.”

“God isn’t God anymore.”

They are more or less circling each other now, tension rife between them.

“He doesn’t care what we do. I am proof of that.”

“But this?”

Castiel turns to face his brother, questioning him, challenging him.

“What were you gonna do Uriel, were you gonna kill the whole garrison?”

“I only killed the ones who said no.”

Castiel thinks, hopes this isn’t true. His garrison, his brothers and sisters can’t be for _this_? Raising Lucifer, causing the apocalypse, causing Dean to…

“Others have joined me, Cas. Now, please brother, don’t fight me. Help me. Help me spread the word. Help me bring on the apocalypse. All you have to do is… is be unafraid.”

Emotions in such crippling intensity were new to the angel, but he is still able to convey pain in his vessel’s eyes as he looks to his brother who fell so far. He is afraid, but not of the looming apocalypse, or of his brothers and sisters, nor is he afraid of disobeying. Rather, he is afraid of being utterly and completely alone, one lone angel against the world. And he is afraid for Dean, his human, his righteous man.

“For the first time, in a long time… I am.”

With all his celestial force, Castiel throws a punch, causing Uriel to crash into, and through, a wall. For humanity, he will fight. For Dean, he will fight.

With a succession of blows, and some broken furniture, Uriel is able to get the upper hand.

Castiel is on his knees in front of his brother. “You can’t win, Uriel. I still serve God.”

“You haven’t even met the man.”

Castiel wonders, as he is at the complete mercy of his brother, if Uriel had heard of a little thing called _faith_.

“There is no will.”

Punch.

“No wrath.”

Punch.

“No… God.”

Before he can land another blow, he is stabbed through the neck by Anna.

“Maybe, or maybe not. But there’s still me.” She whispers in his ear before removing her blade, causing Uriel to fall to the floor, limp. His grace erupts from his body in a blinding light.

Anna stands by Castiel as they look at the scorch marks of wings on the warehouse floor. Their fallen brother. 

Castiel looks to his sister. “You saved me.”

She nods as a sad smile appears on her human lips.

“Why?”

Before the rustle of wings, he hears, “You’re worth saving, Cas.”

*******

“Okay, I got my title. Can you guess?”

Chuck looks a little too excited about his guessing game and Dean barely even looks away from his book.

Cas sighs. “Anna part 2?”

Chuck’s face scrunches up in mock disgust. “Uh, no.” He nods. “Guess again.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Faith?”

Chuck readjusts himself in his chair, a twinkle present in his ancient eyes.

“Yeah, faith.”

*******

Castiel knew he was ordered not to fully heal Dean, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bend the rules a little. He healed him enough so he would no longer need to be intubated, but the bruises and cuts were still present on his pristine face.

Cas sat in the chair next to the bed and waited for Dean to wake up. He sensed it the moment the man was conscious.

“Are you all right?”

“No thanks to you.”

He knows he deserved it, but it still hurt.

“You need to be more careful.”

He means it as a warning. He knows he doesn’t know the extent of Heaven’s plans, but he knows the extent of Uriel’s, and Dean would have been used for that purpose in ways Castiel didn’t want to think about. His righteous man.

“You need to learn how to manage a damn devil’s trap.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Not there, not then, but everything.

“Uriel is dead.”

“Was it the demons?”

_It was Anna, it was me, it was…_

“It was disobedience.”

He looks to Dean earnestly, hoping he truly hears the meaning behind his phrasing.

“He was working against _us_.”

He does not get a reaction, not one he expects anyway, and he knows Dean didn’t fully understand his words.

“Is it true?”

Castiel does not know what the man means, so he looks to him.

“Did I break the first seal?”

Grace is pulled at the edges within the vessel of a man who sold ad time on AM radio.

“Did I start all this?”

Truth. Dean deserved truth.

“Yes.”

Pain pulls the edges even more and Castiel feels stretched, pulled in directions he should not be, but he continues. And without thinking about the angel’s words, he says:

“When we discovered Lilith’s plan for you…”

_When Zachariah asked for volunteers to retrieve the righteous man’s soul from hell…_

“We laid siege to Hell, “

_I searched for you for decades…_

“And we fought our way to get to you before you…”

_I walked, and I walked, and I fought, and I hid, and I told Lucifer he would never see the light of day…_

“Jump-started the apocalypse.”

“But we were too late…”

_I saw you; I saw the soul on your rack, and I called to you…_

“Why didn’t you just leave me there then?”

_Because I loved your soul the moment I saw it…_

“It’s not… blame that falls on you Dean.”

_You are the righteous man. You are my brother’s true vessel, but you are human, and you are Dean Winchester, and you are perfect…_

“It’s fate.”

_You are different…_

“And the righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it.”

_You are my champion._

“You have to stop it.”

“Lucifer, the apocalypse? What does that mean?”

Castiel wishes he knew so that he could tell him, so that they could face this, together. Angel and charge. He looks away, unsure, unable to offer the truth.

“Hey! Don’t you go disappearing on me you son of a bitch. What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bull!”

“I don’t.” He looks to him then, hoping the sincerity is transferred to his vessel’s eyes.

“Dean, they don’t tell me much. I know… how our fate rests with you.”

“Well then, you guys are screwed. I can’t do it Cas. It’s too big. Alastair was right, I’m not all here. I’m not… I’m not strong enough.”

Castiel looks to him, he sees the pain, the disbelief, the struggle. He can sense it, the self-loathing. Here is the man who felt he deserved to rot in hell. It is painful to the angel, to see his champion this way, the man he feels is deserving, and worthy and ever so capable of anything.

“Well, I guess I’m not the man either of our dads wanted us to be. Find someone else. It’s not me.”

Castiel remains in the chair for hours, watching over the righteous man who feels unworthy. He only leaves when Sam comes back, hoping and willing he can succeed where Castiel failed.

For if Castiel knew anything, he knew this about Dean Winchester:

It was him.

*******

Chuck closes his laptop gleefully as he scratches at his beard. “That was great guys, really. Whew. Really got in there today.”

Dean sits up and closes his book, finished with it.

“Yeah, lots of fun.”

Chuck shrugs and claps his hands together. “Tomorrow is ‘The Monster at the End of this Book’, and I’m in that one. I make my debut.” He smiles at them, and quickly ends the gesture in mock embarrassment at his lack of a response.

“Kay, so uh, tomorrow then.” With a snap he leaves.

Dean immediately pulls Cas into a hug. He kisses his temple. “Fuck, Babe, that was a lot, you okay?”

“Are you?”

Dean pulls away and pulls Cas to him so the angel will be resting on his shoulder. “Yeah, man, just, I knew my own shit you know, because it’s me, but learning what you’ve been through…”

“Dean, it is all in the past, it is without consequence.”

“Dude, no it’s not. I mean, yeah, this, us, is new, but your feelings or whatever are important, and they were then, I just didn’t think you had any.”

Dean begins to rub up and down Cas’s arm and suddenly notices the lack of clothing. How the fuck did he just now notice his angel was wearing just a t shirt? The angel’s muscle is prominent, and Dean stops rubbing and detaches himself from Cas as he sits on the other end of the couch.

Cas’s eyes narrow, his brow furrows, and he raises the eyebrow that Dean feels in all sorts of places. He can’t make eye contact, and so Cas, being the little fucker he is, scoots closer to him.

“My love?”

And fuck it all, that endearment got to him. “Cas… I’m…”

Cas puts his hand on Dean’s knee, his hand wandering up his leg, touching the upper part of his thigh before he stills.

“What, Dean?”

That looks that was so Cas put him right back in that barn and he knew the angel was searching his soul.

“You, the t-shirt.”

“I wear a t-shirt to bed.”

The confusion was not leaving, and Dean realized this was the guy who did not understand why Dean was upset he left Gabriel in his room alone to extract his grace. He was going to have to explain.

“Yeah, but normally, I uh… don’t feel it.”

Dean can tell the moment his angel realizes what he’s referring to. “You are distracted?”

Dean sighs and chuckles a little. “Yeah, Cas, you’re distracting.”

The angel looks to the ceiling, a slight, sly smile playing on his lips. “Hum… well, perhaps you would be less distracted if you simply enacted all the thoughts you were being distracted by.” He looks back down to meet Dean’s eyes, and there was that fucking smirk.

“Dude, you cannot just say shit like that”

“Can I not?” 

Cas’s hand moved further up Dean’s leg, and Dean covered it with his own, stopping him.

“Cas, I want you. I fucking want you so bad, man. But let’s uh, let’s do it right, you know?”

“Right, Dean?”

The angel started to remove his hand, but Dean held it in place. He always appreciated the fact Cas let himself be stopped, because angel strength was no fucking joke.

“Yeah, right. I ain’t ever got to do the whole date thing. Fuck, all my relationships were one-night stands, or started from one night stands.”

Castiel nods, a gesture for which Dean is exceedingly grateful.

“You want to experience the entirety of the ‘normal’ human courtship experience with me because you care deeply for what we are and what we could be.”

Dean smiles at the verbiage. “Yeah, and uh, you ain’t had it either. We got the time, we got the place, lets just, lets try it, kay?”

“Okay, Dean. I suppose that means the second date is up to me, correct?”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “Uh… what you planning, Cas? I’m kinda scared of your ideas, man.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “I can use the google, Dean.”

“All right, Cas, second date, all you. Use the google.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I would LOVE to hear from you guys!! Comments and kudos make me smile and improve my day. :-)


	8. Believe in Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast, dealing with Chuck, and second date!
> 
> Covers the events before and during episode 4.17 and 4.18.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for all the wonderful comments, the kudos, the bookmarks, and the subscriptions! They mean so much! You all are such fantastic readers, thank you so much for choosing this tale!!
> 
> I do not own Supernatural, or any other Book, TV Show, Movie, Song, Website, Webpage, and/or App mentioned in this tale. 
> 
> Y'all, I am SO, SO, SORRY it has taken me so long to update!! The last couple weeks have been rough ones, but I am hoping to start updating at least twice a week again starting this week. Y'all are such awesome readers and I am so sorry for making you guys wait this long for an update!! Y'alls comments and kudos have inspired me over the last couple weeks, and I really cannot tell y'all how awesome you all are.
> 
> This chapter covers episode 4.17 and 4.18. 
> 
> I truly hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you so, so much for reading!!

Dean wasn’t exactly certain when the angel made it to bed, but he was aware of the angel nuzzled into his neck, legs splayed over Dean’s own, and arm laying haphazardly across his back. It was heaven, he didn’t want to move, except he had to pee.

“Cas?”

An angry grunt is all he gets in response, which makes Dean chuckle slightly.

“Come on man, move, I gotta use the bathroom.”

Another grunt, this time more annoyed, less angry.

“Cas, come on, I gotta pee, dude.”

With gestures that encapsulate the word ‘disgruntled’, Cas changes positions and more or less flings himself to the other side of the bed.

Before closing the door, Dean hears: “Urination is annoying.”

Cas appears to be asleep when Dean makes it back to bed, and the hunter wonders how he can mimic a position that was as comfortable as their previous one. Cas is a beautiful sight to behold, t-shirt and pajama pants, hair all mussed from sleep, stubble, eyelashes fluttering against the slightly purplish skin underneath his eye. Dean is entranced. He marvels not only at the sight before him, but how he got here, in spite of all the obstacles. Tears sting and threaten emerald eyes.

“Come to bed, Dean.”

With a huff from his nose, the hunter acquiesces to the angel’s request.

“You gonna stay all the way over there?”

Castiel pushes himself off his stomach and rolls over to his side to make eye contact with Dean.

“Do you intend on urinating again before nine am?”

Dean pulls the pillow out from underneath his head to swat at Cas’s face with it. “Asshole.”

Cas grabs the pillow and throws it over to the chair on the other side of the room. He gives Dean a shit eating grin and plops his own head dramatically on _his_ pillow.

“Such as asshole.”

In response, Cas opens his arm to Dean, a clear invitation to lay on his chest.

“Angel soft, huh?”

A quizzical eyebrow sends quivers throughout Dean’s spine.

“I am unsure if you are comparing my chest to toilet paper or not. Considering you have called me an anus twice in the last minute, I can only assume that is the point of your comment.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he lays his head on Cas’s chest, which was anything but soft, but still incredibly comfortable. Dean swallows before answering. Cas’s arm snakes around him and he settles in further.

“Your chest is definitely not toilet paper.”

Cas chuckles, and Dean enjoys feeling and hearing the mirth in the other man’s chest.

“Good night, my love.”

“Night, Babe.”

*******

Chuck is waiting for them in his chair, glasses held on the bridge of his nose. He looks up when they more or less stumble into the living room, sleep still held in their eyes. Dean learns pretty quickly he sleeps better with the angel next to him, sprawled on top of him, or underneath him. Basically, Dean now knows he _needs_ Cas in ways he never thought he would need anyone before. That thought is both terrifying and comforting.

“Oh good, you’re both up. I want to start on your conversation with Zachariah after you leave Dean’s hospital room, son.”

Cas grunts out a response as he wanders over to the coffee maker. He gets the coffee, filters, and mugs from the cabinet and walks the glass carafe over to the sink.

Chuck removes his glasses as he squints at Castiel, a look that is not lost on an experienced hunter. Dread fills Dean’s veins, as if they were pumping syrup instead of blood. That look from _God_ could not be a good thing. Was something wrong with Cas other than his grace failing? It would be a dramatic ending, wouldn’t it? To just now act on the fact he was _in love_ with the being grumpily making coffee in front of him to have the angel ripped out from underneath him, and leave Dean grief-stricken and useless in his wake.

But Chuck said Cas was strong right? That he could’ve bore the mark without consequence. That meant he was okay, right?

Chuck’s eyes move to Dean’s, and Dean sees something there, a twinkle? A spark? What the fuck was it? Whatever it was, Dean didn’t like it, not one damn bit. He swallows all the emotions climbing up his throat and moves to the fridge.

“What you want for breakfast, angel?” He tries to hide any emotions that may have escaped into his voice.

“Whatever you wish to make, Dean.” Cas hands him a cup of coffee before taking his and Chuck’s to the sitting area of the living room.

*******

“So, what you’re telling me is, you killed Uriel?”

Castiel looks at the untouched drink that was placed in front of him only seconds ago. His eyes remain on the amber liquid moving slightly in the small glass as he answers his superior.

“He was the one who was killing the other angels. He… wanted to convert them, to raise Lucifer.”

If Castiel were looking to his superior, if his vessel’s blue eyes were to search those of the angel’s in front of him, he would have seen _something_ , although he wouldn’t have known what that something was. He wouldn’t know that for a few days yet. Days that will seem like a human’s lifetime.

“Hum.” Zachariah finishes his drink and takes Castiel’s. “Okay, so it was necessary, got it.”

Zachariah puts his glass down and rubs the bridge of his nose, as if he is contemplating something he would rather not contemplate. “This puts you back in your original position.”

Castiel’s grace moves quietly throughout his vessel in small, pleasant waves. The reinstatement means one thing to the Seraph: autonomy where Dean Winchester is concerned.

“Debrief me on the Winchesters. I know you went to go see the older one.”

Castiel starts as his vessel’s eyes quickly move to the angel in front of him, fear weaving throughout his grace for the man he saved, the little girl in Colorado, and the woman who was currently living with her brother in San Francisco. A patch of grass on a pristine lawn in a retirement community in Southern Florida dies in the shape of a pair of wings, making the headline in the community’s newsletter.

“I’m not going to punish you, Cassie. I just want you to be aware that I know everything you do, so…”

“Dean… lacks faith. He feels he is unable to complete the task that lays ahead of him.”

Castiel’s words send a type of sadness throughout him as he remembers the tear finding its way down Dean’s cheek in that hospital bed. A tear Castiel felt an overwhelming urge to wipe away with his vessel’s hand, an urge the Seraph did not understand.

“Gotcha. Think I can fix that little problem. Now, what about the unholy one?”

Castiel’s eyes narrow at his superior as he thinks of the flicker in Sam’s soul. A small flame he relished in.

“Sam?”

Zachariah points to Castiel with a smirk. “That’s the one.”

Castiel’s grace flows unsteadily as he contemplates the best answer for the angel in front of him. “He saved me, and Dean. He… killed Alistair.”

“Killed, right, I got that on your last report before _you_ killed one of our best soldiers.”

“He was…”

“I get it, thanks.” Zachariah rolls his eyes and signals to the waitress for another round.

“Now, how did that unholy blasphemy kill Alistair?”

Grace tightens within the vessel of a man who perhaps had too much faith. “He used his… abilities.”

Zachariah smirks, a terrifying sight to behold, and the grace tightens even more. “Which means he what? Drank more demon blood?”

“I am unaware of Sam Winchester’s actions, perhaps he…”

“No, he drank more, which means…”

The seraph interrupts his superior, an action he was hesitant to do of late. “He is a good man, his soul is…”

“Tainted, solider. Tainted. Do you job, no ‘emotional’ involvement. That is always your downfall, Castiel.”

The angel closes his eyes, hoping all of this will go away. He wants Sam and Dean to go about their normal lives. He wishes for Lucifer to stay in his cage in the most dismal part of hell. He wants Dean to have no memories of hell, for the hunter to believe in his worth. He wishes he could watch the brothers from afar as they live out their deserved long lives, and then perhaps he can visit Dean’s soul in Heaven, and the three of them can spend eternity together. His thoughts are interrupted by an angel who has a surprisingly small amount of patience for a being of millennia.

“Earth to Cas.”

The seraph cocks his head at the unfamiliar phrasing, causing Zachariah to roll his eyes, again.

“You are to tell Dean everything his brother is doing.”

Grace constricts into a tight ball next to a bright soul.

“That will hurt both of them immensely, perhaps if I talked to Sam.”

“Uh, no. You will tell Dean, and then you will report back to me, because I have a little plan for your boys.”

Sparks of grace shoot to fingers, willing action Castiel is unable to act upon.

“Plan?”

Zachariah clicks his tongue. “Secret plan.” He winks at Castiel in a manner so disingenuous Castiel mildly wonders how an angel was able to pull it off.

“So, go to Dean. Bye.” Zachariah wiggles his fingers in a type of wave and Castiel flies away, wishing he didn’t have to land where he does.

*******

When Dean settles into his side of the couch with his plate he grins at Cas’s confused look.

“It’s uh, avocado toast with fried egg on top. Sammy made a big deal about it, so I made it, and kinda ended up liking it, but don’t tell him, Cas.”

Castiel smiles at the man he gave his equivalent of a heart to so long ago. “It will be one of our secrets, Dean.”

Chuck bites into his with elation. Yolk dribbles down his chin and into his beard. He wipes it away with a paper towel before speaking. “You really are a good cook, Dean. I should’ve included that in the books more, rounded out your character.”

With eyes that scream 1000% done, Dean looks to his angel, who makes a very slight shake with his head.

“Uh, yeah. My character.”

Chuck nods before raising his eyebrows at Cas. “So, uh, convo with Dean.”

*******

“Son-of-a-bitch!”

Cas tilts his head at the man in front of him. He landed in the small kitchenette of the motel Dean and Sam were currently staying at, about one foot from Dean’s face.

Dean backs up and licks his lips. “Look, Cas, man, you uh, you gotta learn about personal space, dude.”

An inquisitive eyebrow makes the hunter shake his head almost fondly as he backs up another foot. “All right, see, this…” He gestures between them with his hand, “This is good for close friends, brothers, family.” He backs up another foot. “This is good for acquaintances…” He backs up yet another foot. “And this, this is good for strangers.”

Castiel nods as moves to the bed he knows is Dean’s and sits on the edge. Dean sits opposite on Sam’s bed.

“What’s up, Cas?”

The angel looks to the ceiling and Dean rolls his eyes and a very slight chuckle escapes his nostrils.

“Nah, man. Why are you here? Let me guess, you want something. Well, whatever it is, the answer is no.”

Castiel’s eyes close as he wishes the man in front of him would see him for what he was. How he was, how he _felt_.

“No. I am here to discuss Sam.”

Dean’s eyes narrow as he leans forward, his and the angel’s knees almost touching. Castiel can feel it then, with Dean. The heat that seems to always be there when the two of them are close. His grace responds with tendrils reaching out toward the handprint he was so fond of. He could sense it, feel it, commune with it.

“What about Sam, he safe?”

Castiel nods, wondering just what ‘safe’ meant in this situation. “He killed Alistair, Dean.”

“The Hell? Killed? With his powers?”

“Yes. However, he did save all of us. He…”

“Spit it out Cas. What, you and the God squad want him to quit, right? So, you get him to quit.”

“It is not that simple.” Castiel only wishes it were.

“Dude, you gotta explain more than that. You want me to get him to stop, we’ve already been over that, but you said he did it to save us, so…”

“I am grateful, Dean, do not misunderstand me.” Again. “However, his powers come from…”

Castiel hesitates, he knows this will hurt Dean, infuriate him, and he wishes to not be the one to tell him. He thinks to the ether and wishes for its peace.

“From what, Cas?”

Castiel knows his orders, knows he is supposed to tell him the truth, but he cannot. Castiel fears the truth will alter Dean’s perception of his brother, and one of the best things about Dean Winchester was his love for Sam. So, he altered it, made it a little different, but there was still a hint of truth.

“As you know, Sam has the power of a demon in him, has since he was six months old. He has been using his powers, strengthening them. I myself was unable to smite Alistair, Dean. But Sam, he… he killed him, effectively, brutally, terrifyingly.”

Castiel looks to him them, their eyes connecting, soul reaching out and finding grace.

Dean’s lower lip quivers and he looks away from Cas. Dean nods, then stands up and flings the lamp that is on the nightstand between the beds so hard it flies across the bed and smashes into the wall of kitchenette. The lamp shatters into a hundred pieces, and Castiel likens it to the bloom deep in the pit of his grace.

“Fuck!”

Castiel looks down to his vessel’s hands and begins to push the cuticles back, a nervous habit he did not intend on adopting, but it felt natural.

“Great. Just great. So, what, Sam’s what, a lost cause? I don’t care what you guys think, Sammy is not, he’s…”

Castiel looks to his charge with squinted eyes. “You misunderstand me, Dean. I was sent to tell you about Sam, but I do not know why. As I told you, they don’t tell me much. I have grown fond of Sam.”

Dean huffs out a sardonic laugh. “Yeah, like a puppy, right? We’re just some fish in your fishbowl.”

“Do you really think so little of me, Dean?”

Green eyes settle into blue, and the hunter retakes his seat on the edge of the bed as he rubs his face.

“What am I supposed to do Cas, huh? Tell him to stop? Threaten him? What? What are your orders about that huh?”

Castiel shakes his head as he plays with the cuticle on his left ring finger. “I wish I could offer guidance, Dean. I worry for the road Sam is heading down, and I believe you are the only one who can change his course.”

Before Dean can respond, Castiel flies away, unable to process whatever look and/or words Dean would give him.

The angel sits atop a mountain, attempting to feel the cold wind hit his vessel’s face. He finds he is unable to feel completely. He sits, cross-legged on a peak, thousands of feet above civilization, feeling above it all. Snow blows arounds him, an unmovable object in an ever-changing world. Unique snowflakes land on black eyelashes, melting slowly as the angel makes a study of all their points, each a unique design much like the people below him.

*******

“Why didn’t you tell me about the blood?”

The dishwasher door closes as Dean makes his way to the bookshelf they have in the living room.

“I was afraid you would feel differently about Sam, I did not have the best grasp of human emotion back then. I now know nothing could make you feel differently about Sam.”

Dean settles on a book that looks like it came from beach house version of Cas’s library. It was titled “Invisible Man” and the back made it sound incredibly interesting and important. Dean vaguely wondered what their alters did in life. He makes his way to the couch and plops down in his usual position, head in Cas’s lap on a pillow. Cas immediately places his hand on Dean’s chest, and everything is right in this fake world.

“I would’ve been madder, that’s for damn sure.”

“His spark was always at the forefront of my mind, and it took some time for me to realize it wouldn’t be easily extinguished.”

Chuck looks to them, his creations. Two species who were never meant to be in the same sphere for an extended period of time. And yet, here they were, unable to be separated for too long. It was a type of miracle in and of itself. And okay, yeah, so Chuck put them in front of each other several times, but they still had an element of free-will, and here they were, obviously so _in love_ it was almost kinda gross. This was the stuff people would read about in books and crinkle their noses because it was unbelievable and sappy. But here they were, two beings who not only tackled all the obstacles, but trampled them into the dust and made them their bitch.

“Okie dokie, so uh, let’s get to the part where Zachariah tells you, Cas, about the alternate reality he created for the boys, and uh, where you intervene to save me.”

Chuck smiles broadly as he pushes his glasses up his face and Dean knows better than to look at the smug son-of-a-bitch because he knows the desire to punch him may be too great.

*******

Castiel looks curiously around the office building Zachariah told him to meet him in. His eyes narrow as he sees a nameplate with the name “Dean Smith” sitting on a desk. He also sees a picture of the older man he met in the barn with Dean, a young blonde woman, and an older woman. All had infectious smiles and Castiel felt his vessel’s lip twitch upwards.

Zachariah appears a few feet in front of him as he claps his hands. “Ah, so I see you have scoped out my alternate reality.”

“I do not understand. Why is Dean in this picture?”

“Because, Cassie, this is the alternate reality I sent Dean to so he would understand his true purpose.”

Squinted blue eyes with dark lashes land upon the angel and he once again rolls his eyes, a motion that seems to come naturally in the presence of Castiel.

“I threw Dean and the other one into this world where they would realize that even if they were ‘normal’ they would still go back to their old life, fighting monsters, because that’s who they are. Even without the ‘tragic pasts’.”

Zachariah sighs dramatically as he walks around the office and picks up the picture Castiel was looking at only moments before.

“I gave them everything they ever wanted, ‘normalcy’, family. And yet…” Zachariah puts the picture back. “They still chose to hunt.” He shrugs, “I just showed them that’s what they truly want, it’s their destiny.”

Castiel stands straighter. He feels his wings stretch proudly on another plane.

“Destiny?”

“Yeah, Cas, destiny.” Zachariah sits on the edge of Dean Smith’s desk, a man who drank detox water and never truly had a chance.

“Dean has to understand what he is meant for, who he meant to be.”

“Which is?”

Castiel wished he could wipe the smirk off Zachariah’s face, for it grated upon his grace, much as a file does upon a callous.

“Ah, ah, ah, that is still pretty high up on the chain of command, soldier. But don’t worry, all of the host will know soon enough.”

Dread flows throughout his form, and his wings furl into themselves; a petal falls off a rose housed in a greenhouse in Sweden, littering the pristine floor. The angel averts his gaze, looking to the floor.

Zachariah squints his eyes, tilts his head, and sighs. “Your pet has found the prophet.”

“Chuck Shurley?”

“Yeah. Uh, I need you to go and intervene before Raphael does. I can’t stand dealing with our older brother, he’s so… righteous.”

Castiel nods, unsure of why his superior does not wish to converse with their older brother but decides he does not think that is the most important thing at the moment.

Zachariah looks to Castiel with mock expectation. “Why are you still here?”

With a nod that speaks a thousand words in a thousand languages, Castiel flies away.

*******

Chuck produces his pencil from the ether and chews the eraser thoughtfully. “Okay, so here, I think I want a couple flashbacks.”

“To what, Father?’

“Uh, yeah, okay, so, one, where you watched Luke, to set the stage for your comment to Dean, and one where you read my books.”

Castiel closes his eyes and nods, a simple gesture that is as expressive as it was eleven years prior.

Dean reaches up and rubs his thumb along Cas’s jawline, a movement that surprises them both. His thumb rests on the slight cleft in Cas’s chin. Cas’s eyes meet his with a twinkle Dean felt was meant for him alone, that only he could elicit.

“Chin up, Angel. Remember, second date is all you tonight, and I am expecting to be so fucking wooed I won’t be able to think straight.”

“Clever use of words, Dean.”

Dean chuckles, and realizes Chuck is slightly chuckling too. He almost forgets the douche is there sometimes, intruding on him and Cas. But Dean decided a couple days ago that he wasn’t gonna waste a minute with Cas, even if his father was there, being an expert in douchiness.

Fuck it, right? Chuck knew everything anyway, even if he didn’t _intend_ for it to be like this. Whatever the fuck that means.

“Okay, so Luke first.”

*******

The Seraph watches as the Son approaches a man tending to a man’s leg.

The man wraps a bandage around the wound, after placing oils on the lesion. “That will be one drachma.”

The man whose wound was tended looks to the physician in horror, his eyes holding pain and fear. “I have that not, dear Sir. I can give you two quadrans.”

The physician looks upon the man with disgust. “Fine, I will take it. But heed you my words, if I am to be called here again, I will require payment upfront. And your wound may fester, so I suggest you get your house in order.”

The man nods as he reaches into his purse and hands the physician two quadrans. The physician looks at the two coins with contempt as he places them in his own purse. He turns and almost bumps into the Son.

“Are you in need of assistance? I only help those with money.” He makes a pointed look back to the man with the wrapped leg before looking to the man in front of him. “And you look as if you do not have any.”

“I do not require money, Luke.”

“How do you know my name, am I well known in this land?”

The Son smiles, a bright thing with a twinkle in his brown eyes. “You have been chosen, my brother.”

“Chosen? For what? Pray, do tell. Whatever I am chosen for, _brother,_ should include a monetary profit, or I will un-choose myself.”

The Christ laughs, a mirthful noise that fills the angel’s grace with the most pleasant of waves, undulations welcome.

“Chosen to receive revelations from the Holy Spirit. Come, walk with me.”

The physician agrees, and the two begin to walk side by side in the small village. The Son walks with his hands folded behind him, his strides are purposeful yet not hurried, there is an easiness about Him, and Castiel is entranced as he follows them. The angel wonders why this man was chosen, the man who seemed to only be interested in money, a thing the Son placed no value in.

“I am to receive revelation from the Holy Spirit? My friend, I am not even of the Jewish faith. I am what you may call a Gentile.”

“Oh, I know this my friend, but this does not exclude you from being worthy of revelation.”

“Hum. And just what am I to receive revelation about? Hum? And who are you?”

The Christ turns to him then, a broad smile on a weather-worn face. His crow’s feet crinkle with mirth and he looks younger and yet older than his thirty-three years.

“I am the Son of the great I Am. Some call me a prophet, some the Messiah. I am here to save that which was lost.”

Luke looks to his sandaled feet as they continue to walk. “I have heard of you, many doubt your claims, in spite of your miracles.”

“Yes, it takes a good deal of faith to believe in my Father, much less that I am His Son, and yet, here I am my friend, in front of you, flesh, blood, and soul, the same as you.”

“And yet without fault, without blame, without sin, and without the need for money.”

The Son stops, looking to Luke. He puts one of his hands on the shoulders of his companion, and his eyes search that of the physician. Luke feels _it_ then, the holiness, the goodness, the Godliness, and he falls to his knees, the Christ’s hand still on his shoulder.

“My Lord, how am I to serve you?”

The infectious, beautiful smile once more appears on a kind face. “My friend, if you are to serve anyone, serve my Father, and walk alongside me. Stand, let us continue our journey.”

Luke arises as he embraces the Son. The Son hugs him tightly and pats his back before releasing him.

“Come, I shall tell you of how you are to receive revelation, meet a man named Paul, how you are to write my story, and my dear friend, you and I shall make fishers of men.”

*******

Dean can sense the presence of _something_ in the room that wasn’t there only moments before. It is a type of cloud that descended upon them, a blanket they can’t seem to get out of. Dean is underneath its effect due to his connection to Cas’s grace. He risks a glance to Chuck and sees the ancient Being for what He is, God. He sees a type of shame in the ancient eyes the Being chose to wear.

Dean looks to Cas then, his eyes hoping to find the faith Cas always seemed to have a shred of, although he didn’t know what the faith was in.

“Cas?”

The angel only smiles sadly and begins to rub Dean’s sternum with his thumb.

Chuck shakes his head and the blanket lifts, allowing air to fill Dean’s lungs, air that never truly left, but air that was impossible to breathe, nonetheless.

“Good, now, uh, books.”

*******

“Have you seen these… abominations?”

The angel looks to his comrade with one of his faces, slight disinterest playing upon the others. Six wings stretch in the sun, enjoying the earth’s warmth, although he couldn’t feel it.

Uriel’s grace reaches out to present to Castiel the Supernatural series written by one Carver Edlund. Castiel extends his tendrils to take them.

“They revolve around the human you pulled from the pit.”

Castiel’s interest is piqued as he begins to read the first book.

“Dean.”

Uriel rolls several of his eyes towards the firmament, his wings furling and unfurling.

“Hum. The writer is the prophet of our times.” The angel sighs as he looks to his commander, the angel who dared enter Hell to save the soul of one man who engaged in debauchery, and Uriel felt was unworthy to be saved. “Why he, why any of these mudmonkeys are _chosen_ , is beyond my comprehension, Castiel.”

The Seraph barely paid attention to his brother as he consumed the words of Chuck Shurley. “It is our Father’s will, Uriel.”

“Hum. Enjoy your reading, Castiel.”

The Seraph does not offer an adieu as he continues to read, page after page, consuming the life of Dean Winchester, the series putting pieces of the puzzle in its place. His would-be champion was a hero in every sense of the word. He truly was the best of humanity, and Castiel was even more grateful that he was the one to pull him from perdition.

*******

Okay, so maybe Dean wanted to kiss Cas right then and there. Who, or what, read those shitty books and thought Dean was a _hero_? He was broken, and drank, and slept with women who wouldn’t see him one more time. He coped by anger, he hustled pool, used stolen credit cards to get by, stole to eat, and here was Castiel, angel of the Lord, who read those books and thought of him as a _champion_.

“Cas, you thought that I…”

His angel smiles down at him as he plays with his hair, both of his pristine hands with long, beautiful fingers on Dean, comforting him, comforting _them_.

“Of course.”

Dean swallows, nods, and returns to his book, tears panging his eyes.

Chuck, as was becoming his usual custom, simply watched. He was observing, because this book, _his_ book, was going to be a bestseller, he was sure of it. And its success was going to be due to the two men in front of him, and his literary genius of course.

********

Castiel lands in a house that appears unkept and sees Dean with his hand clenching the shirt of the prophet and pinning him against the wall. He understands Dean’s anger and feels his frustration in his grace.

Dean yells at Chuck: “How the hell are you doing this?”

Castiel intervenes and says loudly: “Dean, let him go.”

He notes a hint of anger in his own voice, and mildly wonders where the emotion came from. Perhaps he was simply responding to Dean’s anger in the way typical to them. One usually angry or frustrated with the other. Was that what caused the heat? The emotional charge between them? Castiel knew the answer was ‘no’, but that was not something to dwell on at the moment, when he was standing in the house of the prophet, trying to calm Dean down before Raphael intervened.

Dean looks to him then, their eyes connecting as they often did. The hunter’s hand is still on Chuck’s chest in defiance, a motion Castiel expected. He always expected defiance from his hunter.

“This man is to be protected.”

“Why?”

And there he was, the man Castiel put faith in, but put no faith in him. His questioning green-eyed charge who always wanted to know more, and Castiel would tell him, because this time he could. Because this time it wouldn’t rip his grace to shreds.

“He’s a prophet of the Lord.”

The shock on Dean’s face is prominent, but because he is a master at hiding his emotions, he quickly hides it, instead removing his hand from Chuck’s chest and staring at Castiel for a moment before lowering his eyes.

“You…you’re Castiel.”

Chuck regards Castiel with a type of awe and fear. Dean looks ever so slightly behind him, before turning his attention on Chuck while still keeping his body facing Dean.

“Aren’t you?” It’s a question Chuck already knew the answer to.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Chuck.” He meant it, did the angel. It was rare for an Angel to meet a prophet, especially in a vessel.

“I… admire your work.” Castiel thinks to all the books he consumed about his champion, and a very slight smile plays upon pale pink lips. He averts his gaze to the collection he sees in the house, near him. He picks up one of the books he sees sitting open on the top of the shelf and thumbs through it.

“Whoa, whoa, what? This guy, a prophet? Come on, he’s he’s…”

As Dean is talking, Chuck gets the brown bag he brought in only moments before and takes it over to a chair, obviously scared.

“He’s practically a Penthouse forum writer.”

Once again, Castiel is unable to fully comprehend Dean’s words, so he continues to thumb through the book.

Dean turns his attention to Chuck, “Did you know about this?”

Chuck begins to open his bottle. “I uh… I might have dreamt about it.”

Castiel continues to read, well reread, fascinated by the words of the prophet.

“And you didn’t tell us?!”

“It was too preposterous, not to mention arrogant. I mean, writing yourself into the story is one thing, but as a prophet? That’s like M. Night-level douchiness.”

Dean rolls his eyes as Chuck drinks straight from the bottle and turns his attention to the angel in front of him.

“This is the guy who decided our fate?”

Castiel keeps his attention on the book as he answers, “He isn’t deciding anything. He’s a mouthpiece. A conduit for the inspired word.”

Dean’s lips pucker in a fashion that screams that he isn’t buying any of this. “The Word? The Word of God? What, like the New New Testament?”

Castiel answers with what he knows as the truth. He suddenly realizes, although it doesn’t appear on his vessel, what Uriel meant by the _Chosen Ones_. Two brothers changing the world, one hunt at a time. “One day, these books… they’ll be known as the Winchester gospel.”

Castiel looks to the back of the book then, marveling at how undescriptive the description is.

Dean and Chuck say at the same time, “You got to be kidding me.”

Castiel searches Jimmy’s knowledge to answer Dean’s question and finds it fairly quickly. Dean thought he was making a joke.

“I am not… kidding you.” He looks to Dean, not Chuck, even though Chuck is a prophet the angel finds he can hardly pay attention to anything or anyone else when Dean is in his vicinity.

Chuck gets up from his chair, bottle still in hand. “If you’d both please excuse me one minute.” He sounds ill, and Castiel is somewhat concerned for him, but not enough to move away from Dean.

Chuck escapes up the stairs and Dean looks back towards Castiel.

“Him? Really? “

Castiel thinks back to the physician who only wanted money. “You should’ve seen Luke.”

Dean shakes his head, unbelieving, and begins to walk away. Castiel follows his body with his own movements, the two always moving around one another, almost in a never-ending circle.

“Why’d he get tapped?”

“I don’t know how prophets are chosen.” Dean once more makes eye contact with him, blue searching and blending into green. “The order comes from high up on the celestial chain of command.”

“How high?”

“Very.” Castiel was unsure, really, but he always thought it was God Himself.

“Well, whatever, how do we get around this?”

His champion, always trying to find a way around what Zachariah would term his ‘destiny’. But that’s the thing about champions, they don’t put up with the status quo, they challenge, they fight, and they will always find a way. But Castiel was unsure exactly what Dean meant here, so he asked, as he often found himself doing when it came to matters regarding the elder Winchester.

“Around what?”

“The Sam-Lilith love connection.”

And there it was, his Righteous Man’s concern for his brother. _Greater love hath no man than this, then to lay down his life for his friend_. Sam. Of course it was Sam.

“How do we stop it from happening?”

The Seraph found himself at yet another type of metaphorical crossroads. What felt _right_? Should he just know? He looks up and away from Dean, unable to continue meeting his eyes.

“What the prophet has written cannot be unwritten.” That was right, it had to be. The visions came from God, Castiel was almost sure of it.

He meets his charge’s eyes once more, ready to face whatever Dean was going to dole out. “As he has seen it, so shall it come to pass.”

This was _right_. The prophets were always right. This here had no gray area, Castiel was sure of it. Almost.

To his surprise, Dean didn’t argue, he didn’t tell him to go ‘screw himself’ or ‘screw the prophet’, or ‘screw’ anything. He simply left. Perhaps he left angrily, but he did just leave. Castiel assumed, correctly, it was to change his destiny.

*******

“I uh… thought it would be best if I just kinda kept everything from Cas’s perspective. Not, you know, let anyone in on the big reveal until later.”

Dean and Cas simply look at the Creator of the Universe with eyes that hold the slightest trace of pain, both men capable of hiding their true emotions.

Chuck nods, puts the pencil he was chewing on behind his ear, and sets his fingers over the keyboard once more.

*******

Castiel was accustomed to hearing prayers. He was the angel of several things, and prayers were offered up to him on fairly regular occasion. He would pray for those who prayed to him and would intervene when allowed. A prayer to an angel is a curious thing. They have the ability to process prayers as they go about their normal activities in Heaven, or as guardians on earth. An angel’s brain, or the equivalent, is not the same as a human’s. There are different filters along their wavelengths that enable them to think multiple things at a time, each through a different process.

Castiel was filtering his prayers while looking on at a child who prayed to him that her cat would not die after being hit by a car. Since Castiel was the angel of tears, the little girl, who was around seven years old and had both front teeth missing, thought it would be best to pray to him since she was crying.

She kneels in the middle of the country road in a small town in Ireland. Castiel is impressed by her ability to recall angels that quickly. Tears mingle with freckles as she looks to him.

“An tusa mo aingeal?” (“Are you my angel?”)

He wills his vessel to smile upon her in a kindly manner.

“Sea, is mise an té a d'áitigh tú. Cassiel.” (“Yes, I am the one you invoked. Cassiel.”)

“An féidir leat mo chat a leigheas?” (“Can you heal my cat?”)

The angel looks to the feline laying in the road, a mangled thing. He knows he is dead, and he knows this is not sanctioned, but right now, he feels much the same way about destiny as his green-eyed hunter. He reaches long fingers towards the matted orange fur. He places two fingers on the cat’s chest, and the animal breathes. It gets up, circles Cas’s feet appreciatively and finds its way into his small owner’s arms.

“Go raibh maith agat aingeal!” (“Thank you angel!”)

The angel stands, as he nods.

“Tá fáilte romhat, a Oonagh.” (“You’re welcome, Oonagh.”)

As the little girl with strawberry blonde hair and freckles bounces her way back into her home, Castiel feels strangely as another prayer pulls on his grace, much differently than ones previous, it is strong, and unable to be ignored.

He tilts his head to listen and is surprised it is Dean who is praying to him. Surprised and somewhat… relieved? No, that wasn’t quite right. Happy? Maybe.

_“Well, I feel stupid doing this. But… I am fresh out of options. So, please… I need some help.”_

Castiel flies to Dean then, an almost instantaneous motion, Dean is showing faith, in _him_. Something Castiel barely dreamed to even wish.

He sees Dean standing in front of a type of beverage dispenser and can read the disappointment and distrust in the way he carries his shoulders. Almost as if he were expecting to be let down.

“I’m praying, okay? Come on.”

There’s a sort of desperateness there, in his words, his voice. And it pains Castiel’s grace to hear it. Tendrils reach out him, trying to find connection in the handprint, willing the hunter to sense him there, as Castiel so often sensed him.

“Please.”

The desperation calls out to Castiel, and he calls out to Dean in a way all of his own. A way that he hopes conveys his pride.

“Prayer is a sign of faith.”

Dean turns around to him suddenly, and Castiel wonders how long it will take before Dean will be able to simply feel him.

“This is a good thing, Dean.” It was, Castiel knew. Faith. Hope. Perhaps even Love.

The angel walks to stand closer to his charge, he sees the hope on Dean’s face, and his grace settles in a type of pit, almost as if it were a weight in a human stomach. He knows that whatever Dean is about to ask he probably will be unable to help, as it will be forbidden, or against orders. He feels he must disappoint Dean at every turn, and it saddens him.

“So, does that mean you’ll help me?”

Castiel provides an honest answer, a truthful answer, the only type he wishes to provide his hunter. “I’m not sure what I can do.”

Castiel can see the hope in Dean’s eyes, it is a spark behind the beginnings of tears in earnest, emerald eyes.

“Drag Sam out of here… now. Before Lilith shows up.”

Castiel’s grace untangles itself, emerging from the pit to flow throughout his form in anxious waves, knowing he will once again disappoint the man in front of him, lessening the faith Dean just now decided to show.

“It’s a prophecy. I can’t interfere.” He couldn’t, he shouldn’t, it was against orders, it was forbidden. Prophecy was law. God’s law, unable to be rewritten.

“You have tested me and thrown me every which way.” Dean walks closer to him, Castiel feels the heat build and looks away. “And I have never asked for anything.”

The angel looks to him once more, knowing Dean deserves not only all Castiel can give, but whatever the Universe can give as well. He wants nothing more than to acquiesce to all of the wants, needs, and desires of Dean’s soul, but he cannot, he is not allowed.

“Not a damn thing. But now I’m asking. I need your help. Please.”

Castiel knows he cannot, should not, and yet… He shakes his head, looks toward the Heaven as if God Himself will help him. But more than likely the only thing going on in Heaven is Zachariah making sure he did not disappoint the host.

“What you’re asking it’s…” He walks even closer to Dean, encroaching the ‘family’ space, “Is not within my power to do.”

“Why? Cause it’s ‘divine prophecy’?”

Castiel knew the answer, knew that prophecy was supposed to be untouchable.

“Yes.”

There was heat, a tremendous amount of it, and Dean responded angrily. The grace began to undulate under the skin of his vessel, and a very small, insubstantial earthquake took place in the Sahara Desert.

“So, what… we’re just supposed to sit around a-and wait for it to happen?”

Castiel felt the anger in his grace change to something else, something just as unpleasant. It was a sense of helplessness, and he preferred the anger.

He can do nothing except utter two words the hunter didn’t want to hear, two words that meant nothing to Dean Winchester, because they were thrown around too easily and excused behavior that should not be excused. Dean Winchester was a man of action and needed it from others.

“I’m sorry.”

He sees the anger return in eyes that were one second ago pleading. The hope disappears, and Castiel feels the absence.

“Screw you. You and your mission.”

Castiel looks down, wishing to avoid the hunter’s disapproval, his wrath he seems to give out so freely. Castiel wonders at the bloom of red in his grace, wondering why it appeared and wishes it would disappear, so that it would no longer cause a gnawing feeling regarding the human in front of him.

“Your God.”

At those two words, Castiel’s own anger returns; upset Dean would insult his father in such a manner. He stares into Dean’s eyes, his own narrowed in disapproval.

“If you don’t help me now, then when the time comes and you need _me_ … don’t bother knocking.”

The threat meant nothing to the angel. He knew his brothers had their ways of dealing with a stubborn human. He wished Dean were not stubborn for that reason alone, not because he cares about his mission. He almost forgot he had one. He truly wants to help Dean, not because of Dean’s empty threats, but because he _cares_ for him, and doesn’t want to continue to hurt.

The angel thinks, contemplates, his quick, strategic mind playing out possible scenarios. He couldn’t intervene personally, but…

Raphael.

“Dean.”

The hunter doesn’t respond as he is walking away, so Castiel says the name that meant more on his lips than on any other.

“Dean.”

“What?!”

He turned around to once again face his hunter. He felt relief flood his vessel, grace once more steady. With a slight smile he begins to artfully lay out his plan without it being a true plan at all.

“You must understand _why_ I can’t intercede. Prophets are very special, they’re protected.”

“I get that.” Angrily, as to be expected.

_Listen_.

“If _anything_ threatens a prophet, anything at all, an archangel will appear to destroy that threat.” _Please listen_. “Archangels are fierce. They’re absolute. They’re Heaven’s most terrifying weapon.”

Castiel hoped Dean understood, willed him to understand.

“And these archangels. They’re tied to prophets.”

He understood.

“Yes.”

Dean walks closer, and the heat is pleasant this time. Castiel intakes oxygen, allowing the element to flood his grace, steadying it even further, as pleasant waves move throughout him.

“So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon…”

“Then the most fearsome wrath of Heaven would rain down on that demon.”

He sees it then, in Dean’s eyes - the spark of hope return.

A sort of smile finds its way to his vessel’s face as Castiel continues: “Just so you understand… why I can’t help.”

There’s a moment there, between them, when Castiel looks away before looking back to a forest of green that the heat intensifies, and Castiel wishes to move closer, his grace reaching out for connection, but he remains steadfast.

“Thanks, Cas.”

“Good luck.”

He wanted Dean to succeed, he wanted Sam to be safe.

Little did the angel know, he had just rewritten the ending.

*******

“Was that, was that one of the moments?”

Dean closes his book, puts it on the coffee table, and looks over to Chuck.

“Oh yeah.”

Chuck nods as he removes the pencil from behind his ear and chews thoughtfully on the eraser. “Okay, I kinda get it. So basically, whenever Cas broke his angelic mold for you?”

Dean sighs as he looks to the ceiling. “Honestly, Chuck, I don’t know. I’ll tell you if a moment was one, but I can’t pinpoint that shit.”

Cas’s hand lays reassuringly on his chest, over his heart, and Dean grounds himself in the feeling.

“I mean I get if that’s it though. It makes sense. You were always expected to fit into a type of mold yourself, whether it was your dad’s or Heaven’s, so you were kinda turned on when someone broke out of theirs for you.”

Dean’s eyes hold anger and tears, and he keeps them steadily on the ceiling. Castiel can feel his heartrate increase and looks to his father pleadingly.

“Please, father. This is my story, surely, we can leave Dean’s emotions out of it.”

Chuck looks to his son, who looks tired. Chuck nods once as he closes his laptop and makes the pencil disappear into the ether. “Uh, yeah, sure. Well, I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’re up to ‘The Rapture’, so uh, that’ll be fun. Good work today. Uh, yeah…”

Chuck disappears with a simple snap.

Dean sits up to wrap his arms around Cas. Castiel begins to rub soothing circles on the other man’s back.

“Fuck, sorry man.”

“For what, Dean?”

“Dude, this.” Dean breaks away and Castiel holds his face in-between his hands.

“Are you apologizing for seeking solace in me?”

“I’m apologizing for needing it over… Chuck.”

“Dean, this… us… is new. But you never need to apologize for finding comfort in me. I rather enjoy it, knowing I can provide you with something you have provided for me for years.”

Dean smiles as he rests their foreheads together. “Yeah…”

“So, are you going to go to the upstairs office so I can set up our date?”

Dean breaks away, a smirk playing on the right side of his lips. “Oh, this takes setup?”

“Indeed.”

Dean makes a ‘sure, why not’ face, before getting up. “Uh, what’s the occasion, formal, or…?”

Castiel smiles, a bright thing, filling Dean’s very soul. “No, my love, come as you are.”

“So, jeans and a band shirt, got it.”

“And a jacket.”

Dean narrows his eyes but nods. “All right, all right, and a jacket. Gotcha.” He winks at Castiel before heading to their room to get a jacket, and then up the stairs to their home office.

*******

It is an excruciating three hours before Dean notices Cas standing in the doorway with two glasses and a bottle of Jack in his hands.

He smiles and shakes his head fondly at the angel.

Cas inclines his head to the right slightly and raises the eyebrow that sends tingles to all the right places.

“Have a drink with me?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Dean walks over to him and notices the angel’s attire. Jeans that are snug in a couple very strategic places, a somewhat fitted gray t-shirt and a leather jacket. Yup, this was going to go swell.

Okay, so maybe Dean wondered if they could skip this part and he could persuade Cas to head straight to their bedroom. But he reminded himself this was them doing it right and taking it slow. And Cas planned this, whatever this was, and Dean was going to go through the emotions.

In an off-handed way he wondered when he thought of Cas as more than just a friend, and maybe it was the build up of all those moments. Maybe it was a culmination of everything the two had been through together and the feeling of always needing the angel. Which was his word for love. He loved him. In that disgusting, gross way people in Hallmark Christmas movies love each other. And he kinda loved it.

Pinpointing his bisexuality was too easy, and he was grateful Chuck left it out of the books, because it was something Dean was working on not only accepting but being proud of. He was raised a hunter, and he was taught hunters didn’t settle down with anyone, much less a man. Hunters slept with waitresses. He didn’t know anything was even possible until he met that couple, Jesse and Caesar, on that weird ass Chitters case. It was also then he entertained the idea of doing the same thing with Cas. But it took Chuck confining them to the same space for Dean to make a move, and he lost so much time. And he didn’t know how much time they had left.

Cas led him out to the beach, where the sun was slowly beginning to set in the perfect false sky. He had a large blanket, mountains of pillows, a basket, and a record player playing Led Zeppelin in the center of a circle of candles.

Dean swallows, overcome by the angel’s amount of work and preparation. “This is… just… a lot, Cas.”

“Too much, Dean?”

Dean grabs his shoulders, hoping to erase any doubt any planted. “No, it’s uh… it’s… no one has ever… thanks, man.”

Castiel inclines his head to the blanket. “Shall we?”

Fuck it all, Dean had nerves. Actual nerves. He tried for the smile, but it seemed to be failing him. His palms began to sweat, and he could only nod as he followed Cas.

Once they are sitting in the middle of the blanket, Cas opens and pours the whiskey. He hands it to Dean and notices the slight tremble there.

“It’s only me, Dean. Your best friend. Your family. Regardless of anything else, or anything we may become, I will always be that.”

Dean looks to him gratefully, and feels grace reaching out to him, steadying him, calming him.

“You can’t do that, man.”

“Do what?”

“The grace thing. You can’t waste it on things like my coffee and fucking nerves.”

“Well, both are important to me.”

Dean scoffs and takes a sip of his drink.

“I believe you were right about the food and sleep; I feel much stronger.”

Dean thinks to the look Chuck was giving Cas that morning and tries to shake that thought out of his head.

“So, uh, you come here often?” Dean chuckles as he looks to Cas, expecting a literal response.

Cas smiles around the rim of his glass. “Every day with the hope that one day I would find you.”

“Well, that’s just fucking romantic as hell, isn’t it? Sappy as all get-out, but romantic.”

“I told you Dean, that type of thing comes easy with you.”

The sun turns orange as it sets, reflecting off the water. Dean turns to his date and watches the sunset in oceanic eyes, mesmerized.

“You’re beautiful, Cas.”

Well that just slipped the fuck out. He pours himself another drink and can see the smirk on Cas’s face.

“Asshole.”

“Hum.”

Well, fuck. Dean did not get flustered. Dean flustered. Maybe that’s what made Cas different, unapproachable for all these years. There was the fear of rejection. And its not like he gave Cas a clue, he tried to hide his feelings, but by Sam’s all-knowing face, he knew he sometimes did a poor job.

The candles turned their circle into a warm, inviting space; and Dean had to hand it to him, Cas threw a hell of a second date. Cas drank him under the table and Dean believed him about his grace being stronger. They finished the bottle and laid back on the pillows, their nest illuminated by candlelight.

“Great second date, Cas.”

“The Google was helpful.”

Dean props himself onto Cas with his elbow. Green eyes look deeply into blue ones, easily finding their connection. Cas’s skin had a warm, rosy glow and Dean was once more entranced.

“Where’d you get the outfit inspiration?” Dean runs his free hand along Cas’s t-shirt, stopping at the hem, where he puts his fingers slightly under, feeling warm skin. Cas shivers slightly at his touch and Dean smiles.

“There is a section on my side of the closet labeled ‘Dean’s favorites’, so I assumed…”

“You assumed right.”

Dean allows his hand to travel further up Cas’s shirt, tracing along his flank, his ribs, his chest. He removes his hand and allows his fingers to slip ever so slightly into the waistband of Cas’s jeans, eliciting a small gasp that floods Dean with more warmth than a bottle of Jack ever could.

“How you doing, angel?”

Castiel responds by putting one hand on Dean’s cheek and the other on his waist. “At this moment, perfectly.”

“Hum.” Dean stares at pink lips that have entranced him since a barn over a decade ago. Pink lips he wanted to feel between his own, lips that said his name as if it were a prayer. Lips that were remade over and over for him. He licks his own, his heartrate increasing, fear of rejection keeping him from taking what he wants.

He can feel the pace of the heartbeat underneath his hand increase and he once more looks into blue eyes now filled with more pupil than iris. Pale, pink lips utter:

“Please, Dean.”

And how could he deny him that? Dean moves his hand to trace Cas’s lips with his thumb. He pulls them apart slightly before placing his own on top of them and kissing ever so gently. Cas is unsure at first and Dean can feel the hesitation. He moves his hand behind Cas’s head and tilts his head slightly so they will be better positioned, their mouths slotting together more harmoniously. Cas soon mirrors his movements, and holy fuck, he’s kissing Cas. 

It’s slow and sweet at first, but small pecks soon turn into hungry, needy things, each unable to get their fill. Their wait and their want comes to the surface, and the kisses turn into wet, hot, lustful expressions of everything they have been holding onto for years.

Cas flips them over easily, breaking away, and he is on top of Dean, looking into his eyes. Cas’s hair is a mess from Dean’s hand, and Dean looks up at him like he’s a holy thing, which in a way, he is. Dean takes the opportunity to breathe fully, not being able to do so since their lips joined, however long ago that was.

“Cas, that was…”

Castiel looks down, his hands splayed across Dean’s chest.

“Did I do all right, Dean?”

Dean huffs out a laugh. “All right? Fuck, man, I think you made me forget everyone but you.”

Castiel smiles as he lowers himself onto his hunter. “May I try again?”

“Cas, I want us to keep trying until the end of time.”

This time the kiss is slow and sweet, each realizing they have plenty of time to explore each other. Their mouths move and fit together perfectly, and Dean thinks, okay, it’s sappy as shit but he deserves a break here, that they were made for each other.

This was such a Lifetime movie.

And he fucking loved it.

Kissing an angel, on a beach, surrounded by candles, underneath the stars. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I would Love, Love, Love to hear from y'all! Y'alls comments inspire me and I value them so much! Kudos are ever so appreciated as well, they make me smile. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Up Next: The Rapture


	9. The Wrong Side of Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is dragged back to Heaven for reconditioning. 
> 
> In the beach house - Dean and Cas have their first (kind of) argument as a couple, and Chuck keeps doing that weird eye squinty thing Dean hates. But, he did make waffles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, please allow me to apologize for how long this took me to write and post! I am so, so sorry! School, among other things, have been overwhelming the last few weeks. But, y'alls comments and kudos have kept this fic in my head through papers and assignments and you all have given me inspiration to never stop writing. Thank you!! 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for the kind words in your comments, for your kudos, and for your subscriptions. They truly mean so much to me. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate y'all!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: This chapter is an intense one. It covers what Castiel had to endure when he was dragged back to Heaven in 4.19. It is not mild, and I tried not to gloss over it. What he endures is intense. However, I ended the chapter on a literal sweet note. 
> 
> I finally had a chance to catch up on all the episodes and oh boy, wow. (No spoilers, just a 'wow'). Also, as this fic will include every single episode Cas has been in, when we eventually get to Season 15, those episodes will be included as well. I already have a plan - although it is far from cemented. But like I promised, regardless of what our beloved show gives us - this fic will have a happy ending. :-) 
> 
> I do not own Supernatural. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Dean woke to the sun streaming forcefully onto his face. He kept his eyes closed against it, allowing the warmth to spread over him. He felt Cas shift on top of his chest and tightened his arms around the angel, content in this place, this space, with him.

They fell asleep on the blanket underneath the stars wrapped in each other’s arms, and Dean couldn’t shake the thought that things like this didn’t happen to him. He didn’t get the happily ever after. He sacrificed everything so that others could get that fairytale ending he knew wasn’t meant for him ever since he carried his six-month-old brother out of a burning house.

He tried to love, tried to accept love, but it just never worked out. Something always came up, the job, usually. But here was Cas, who was the job, laying on top of him on a beach underneath the sun. And it was fucking perfect.

Too perfect.

He suddenly noticed the absence of trickles of sweat that should be running down his temples from the morning sun. His body temperature was perfection and he was angered when he just _knew_ why.

He sat up, upsetting Cas, who was also forced to sit up.

“Dean?”

Dean didn’t allow himself to get lost in the sleepy blue that invaded his dreams in the best of ways.

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong? You seem angry.”

No matter what, Cas just knew him.

“Your fucking grace, man. That’s what’s wrong.”

Cas sat back and crossed his legs under him, He looked up, with eyes closed, getting his bearings.

“I do not understand, Dean.”

“You told me it’s failing, and then you go and make sure I’m comfortable all night with it, like some sort of mojo blanket.”

Cas sighs and allows himself to look into Dean’s face.

“I do not feel weakened, Dean.”

“That don’t matter, man, okay? You save it for yourself. I don’t want it.”

He knows the moment it comes out; it was the wrong phrasing. And normally, he would’ve just let it go, let Cas sulk, drown himself in some Jack’s, and then they’d both get the fuck over it. But now, it was different, wasn’t it? It had to be, two people didn’t pine for a decade then spend hours making out and not have something change. So maybe, Dean should reach out here, apologize, change his phrasing.

“Cas…”

Dean is interrupted by Chuck shouting from the sliding glass doors. “There you guys are! I made waffles.”

Dean nods as he blows out air through his nose. He looks at Cas. “So, uh, God made us breakfast, huh?”

He is disheartened to see Cas won’t make eye contact with him, and he knows he fucked up. And he’s going to have to fix it. But then again, Cas shouldn’t have wasted the grace, so Dean wasn’t completely in the wrong. And he _was_ going to apologize, so if Cas wanted to sulk, Dean was going to let him sulk.

The angel nods and looks to Dean in a type of sideways glance. “So he did. I will be in momentarily, Dean. You go on ahead.”

Dean falters, there is a sadness there that pains him ever so slightly. But, because he is Dean Winchester dealing with Castiel, he gets up and heads into the house. Just because they were now a couple with disgustingly cute pet names and were acting like they were in some Hallmark movie, they were still _them_ and who they fundamentally were would take work and conversations in order to become better and grow together. Hopefully accompanied by lots of kissing, and some other things.

*******

The waffles were delicious.

Dean was very annoyed by that.

Chuck nods as he takes a bite of his own. “Buttermilk.”

Dean didn’t even spare him a glance as he kept on eating. Chuck set their plates up on the peninsula, and Cas still wasn’t sitting at his spot.

“Uh, trouble in paradise?”

Dean does glare at him then, and chews aggressively.

Chuck shakes his head as he looks toward the glass doors. Cas comes in and nods at both his father and Dean.

“Good morning, son. Waffles.”

Cas makes momentary eye contact with Dean before regarding his father. “Thank you, I am going to take a shower, and then we can begin if that is okay?”

Dean hates the way Cas resigns himself to Chuck’s fate, even if he does understand it.

“Of course, yeah. I’ll get everything set up.”

Cas nods as he heads into their bedroom.

Dean notices the eye squint by Chuck again and has to be stupid.

“What’s going on with him?”

“What do you mean?”

Dean rolls his eyes as he shoves more waffles into his mouth.

“I see how you look at him, something’s up, and I wanna know what it is.”

Chuck nods, his lips pursed comically. “Uh, yeah, well, his grace is regenerating, and I’ve just never seen that happen before.”

Dean knew it was more, but Cas’s words rang in his head, and he was gonna listen to his boyfriend’s advice. For once. Hey! That’s what he was. Boyfriend! And wasn’t that just fucking fantastic? Even if his _boyfriend_ was pissed at him right now. And he was glad his boyfriend’s grace was stronger.

“You got any idea why?”

Chuck rubs his beard as he looks at Dean bemusedly. “Yeah, I got one.”

Dean deadpans as he looks at the writer before him.

“What?”

Chuck raises an eyebrow as he allows a small, genuine smile to creep onto the right side of his mouth.

“You, Dean, as always.”

Dean swallows as he looks to his plate. He begins to drag the syrup with his fork.

“How am I gonna restore an Angel’s grace, huh?”

Chuck simply shrugs as he places his plate into the sink and heads to his customary spot in the armchair.

*******

Dean decides that he will organize the kitchen while Cas and Chuck start on Cas’s painful memories part seven or whatever they were up to. He could feel the disappointment and slight hostility radiating from his angel, and he didn’t want to go sit by him just now. They would talk when Chuck left. For now, Dean would organize the kitchen, within hearing distance of his boyfriend of course.

Okay, a little smile spread across his face at the term, so sue him.

Chuck taps the eraser end of the pencil against his teeth, making a small “clack” sound. Castiel looks to him expectantly.

“Yeah, so, here I’m kinda at a standstill, right? So, we left off where you just clued Dean in on how to save Sam, Zach found out and…”

Cas interrupts, and Dean is surprised by the Seraph’s intensity.

“I remember.”

“Yeah, so uh… I guess, let’s start right after Zach finds you.”

Castiel nods.

*******

“It’s a good thing you can be invisible, otherwise you would definitely be arrested for voyeurism.”

Castiel turns his head ever so slightly to his superior, his human eyes holding nothing except blue irises and restricted pupils.

“So, uh, me and my bosses feel you are becoming too chummy with the eldest Winchester.”

“I do not understand the term ‘chummy’ Zachariah.”

The angel rolls his eyes, praying to a God he no longer believed in.

“Friendly, Cassie, you _like_ him.”

Castiel allows the strangeness of the word to wash over him, purifying him in a sense. He _liked_ Dean Winchester. He liked Sam too for that matter. But with Dean there was more, an imprint of grace, a singe of soul rippling through grace – an energy that could never truly be removed, not even by death.

“Do you not even wish to deny it, soldier?”

“What is there to deny, Zachariah? We were instructed by our Father to love humanity, watched as the Son treated them as His equals, am I in the wrong by merely liking one human in particular?”

The other angel’s anger is displayed on his vessel as a vein pulses above his eye.

“Listen here, soldier. You are to do as you are told, and _liking_ a human, or whatever you wish to call it, is not what you were told to do.”

“I do not understand your insinuations, brother.”

“You are no better than the angels we were forced to destroy in Sodom and Gomorrah.”

An image of a helpless husband and wife flashes to the forefront of the Seraph’s mind.

“I felt they did no wrong either, Zachariah.”

The angel reaches out and turns the Seraph around by his coat. “Listen here, you will obey, do you understand? You have no choice, Castiel.”

The angel removes his superior’s hand from his lapel. “I understand that I no longer truly understand our mission. I understand that something is wrong here, and I do not know what.”

Zachariah laughs as he wipes his hands off on his blazer.

“You want to know Cassie? Fine, I’ll tell you, all of it.”

The angel inclines his head, waiting for his superior’s instruction.

“I know you told Dean how to get Lilith out of Sam’s room. Sure, you were sneaky about it, but I will excuse that due to the amount of time you’ve spent with your boy toy.”

The angel disregards Castiel’s squinted eyes as he continues.

“Okay, that was a no-no to the head honchos upstairs, but you dragged him out of Hell, so whatever, and you dragged him out _at the right time_.”

Castiel takes a step back involuntarily.

“But I was too late, I…”

Zachariah snickers. “Do you really think we didn’t know the layout of Hell? We sent you in on the wrong side, ensuring that you would not reach Dean until he had already shed blood.”

Castiel feels as his vessel’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a display of emotion.

“You wanted this to…”

“Yeah, Cas, we’re tired, we want the apocalypse to begin and end everything. Look around you Cas, this is what humans made of our Father’s beautiful creation. Don’t you just want it all to be done?”

“No, I – this is not what…”

“We decide what happens, we have the power of Heaven. Dad’s gone, and we’re tired.”

“No, that’s, no…”

Castiel turns to go, disbelief written across his vessel’s face.

“Don’t you want to hear how your pet fits into all this?”

Castiel turns back around, his soulful eyes meet cold ones.

“Dean?”

Zachariah rolls his eyes again.

“Of course, Dean.”

Castiel simply stands, not giving the other angel the satisfaction of an answer, knowing he would explain anyway.

“He is going to be our brother’s vessel, he is going to be Michael’s meatsuit, there’s no escaping it Cas, the big battle is coming to town, and your boy is gonna be our prizefighter.”

“You didn’t want the seals to remain unbroken.”

“Nope.”

Castiel flies away, his want of warning Dean overcoming any other emotion the angel now felt. Emotion that came in floods these days, emotions that made any and everything else seem insignificant.

*******

Chuck stops typing and scrunches his face up in a pensive manner. “I forgot Adam.”

Dean’s lips purse as he makes a sucking sound with his teeth, then goes back to putting the spices in alphabetical order.

*******

The water was still, calm, peaceful. It was the life Castiel wished Dean could truly have. The life free of any creature that goes bump in the night, the life that allowed him to watch as his line bobbed in and out of the water. Dean looked so content in this dream, his tackle box next to him. Castiel stood behind him, wondering if this was Dean’s true idea of peace.

He hesitantly breaks the silence – the serenity plastered across Dean’s face.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m dreaming aren’t I?”

Castiel thinks of Zachariah, the vulnerability Dean possesses inside of his head. There is no protection here, no way the angel can blockade Dean’s mind. Not here anyway, not now.

“It’s not safe here, someplace more private.”

Disbelief is evident in the man’s eyes. “More private? We’re inside my head.”

“Exactly. Someone could be listening.”

He allows himself to stare into the green then, his defenses down for but a second.

“Cas, what’s wrong?”

There was an abandoned warehouse Castiel knew of, one he investigated, thinking that place would be safe. He placed sigils along the perimeter, in an attempt to hide it. Sigils that would hopefully keep them out, but allow him in. 

He wrote the address on a piece of paper, one he pulled out of his pocket and handed to Dean.

“Meet me here.”

Dean takes it, and the angel tries to stress the importance of the timing.

“Go – now.”

Castiel leaves the dream, and flies to the warehouse he knows Dean will soon be meeting him at.

*******

Dean can feel the heaviness that immediately invades the room. He closes the cabinet door and looks to the couch. Cas runs his hand over his face in a gesture he must have picked up from him.

Dean once again finds a small smile in spite of the fog that seemed to have descended upon the space.

He recovers the book he started and sits on the other end of the couch. He wants Cas to know he’s there, but also that they haven’t resolved their issue.

Was he being petty not putting his head straight into Cas’s waiting lap?

Maybe.

But hey, this was his first relationship in years, so he felt he deserved to have some slack cut.

*******

The warehouse was cold, dark, and uninviting.

It was mere seconds before Cas felt _them_. Lights began to flicker and blow, glass erupting into the damp space.

Castiel summons his blade from the ether, the cool metal feeling comforting against his vessel’s flesh.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.”

Castiel turns to see Zachariah flanked by two of his sisters.

“I let you in on Heaven’s secret and first thing you do is run off to lover boy. Typical.”

“Castiel...” one of the sisters begins, her brown hair tied into a perfect knot on the top of her head. “I am Naomi, and I am here to assist Zachariah in your reconditioning.”

“Again.” Zachariah mutters.

The other sister, Kushiel, who Castiel knows as the angel of punishment, walks to an empty wall and cuts the hand of her vessel, drawing blood. She begins to paint in long swoops. Castiel recognizes the sigil immediately.

“No.” His voice is resolute as he drops the blade to his hand.

“’Fraid you don’t have a choice, soldier. See, you keep acting up, telling Dean things he doesn’t need to know, trying to be ‘on his side’. We need him on ours, you got that? Well, it doesn’t matter, you will.”

Zachariah widens his eyes and indicates with two fingers for their sisters to apprehend Castiel.

Castiel takes on a battle stance, his training and years of service coming to the forefront.

Zachariah walks to the sigil, cuts his palm with his blade, and places his hand on it, weakening all the angels in the room.

Castiel doubles over but continues to fight. He manages to stab Kushiel in the arm, causing her to drop her blade.

She looks to him, and begins to mutter the same words Alistair did, attempting to separate him from his vessel.

Naomi is a competent fighter, but Castiel is better. He has her on her back, blade inches from her throat when a light erupts through his vessel’s eyes and mouth.

Jimmy Novak lays limp on the floor.

Zachariah takes his hand away from the sigil as he walks over to his sisters.

“Really?” He asks as they stand up.

“He is a trained soldier, Zachariah, we are merely instruments of…”

Zachariah cuts Naomi off mid-sentence as he places two fingers on Kushiel’s forehead to heal her wound.

“Michael will have him secured in Heaven, so I suggest you two go back up there and do your jobs. Correctly this time.”

*******

Dean lowers his book and looks to his boyfriend.

Cas’s face looked somewhat peaked.

Why wouldn’t it? He was about to relieve his experience at “Bible Camp.”

Dean no longer felt anger, or guilt, or even sadness. There was something else there, something gnawing, and he let that overcome him.

He knew he and Cas needed to deal with their ‘incident’, but right now he needed to be here for him. Dean knew what it was like to suppress trauma, and what it felt like when it came bubbling to the surface, forced or freely.

Dean put the book on the coffee table and put one of the pillows in his lap.

“Hey, come here, Babe.”

Dean ignored Chuck’s interested glance over the laptop’s screen.

Cas’s eyes narrowed in confusion, and Dean fricking loved that clueless look.

“Put your head in my lap you idiot.”

“Aren’t you angry with me still?”

How in the hell was Dean gonna explain this kind of stuff to Cas? And how in the hell was he gonna make him believe it?

Dean licks his bottom lip as he tries to focus only on the angel in front of him and not his in-law in the armchair.

“We gotta talk about it, Cas, later, but no man, I ain’t angry. You and me are still you and me, we just got some added perks now.”

Dean smirks and Cas mirrors the action.

“But look, I’m here for you, and I ain’t leaving. So put your fucking gorgeous head in my lap and let me comfort you, you dumbass.”

Cas obliges, and Dean begins to play with his hair with one hand and picks his book back up with the other.

Chuck has a smirk all his own as Castiel continues.

*******

The angel whose true vessel had bright blue eyes tries to break free from his older brother’s grasp.

The name he wishes to cry out is on the tip of his tongue, a prayer he knows will go unheard, as the angel who commissioned his birth had not been heard from in over a century.

Castiel, the angel who only wished to obey his Father’s true order, succumbs to Michael’s grasp, and the Seraph goes limp in the archangel’s arms.

“You have fallen from grace, brother. However, do not fear, you will be repaired, as you have been before.”

Before?

Castiel turns one of his faces towards Michael, sadness written in celestial eyes.

“It is for the best, Castiel. Do you not wish to be like the rest of us? Resolute? Steadfast? We are to save humanity, brother, do you not wish to be a part of that?”

“Dean…” is muttered through angelic lips, an exhale of grace.

“My sword brother, nothing more, nothing less.”

Castiel bows his heads at that. Dean was so much more – not only to him or Sam, but to the world.

“He will be honored Castiel, he is the one who can beat our fallen brother.”

The Seraph’s equivalent of human knees become weak as the realization of Lucifer’s rising once again dawns upon him – a promise made in hell that will be broken. He slumps involuntarily into his brother’s many arms, just as Naomi and Kushiel greet them.

Naomi nods at the archangel. “Thank you, Michael. Can you bring him into my office please?”

Michael lifts Castiel in his arms as he follows his sisters.

The chair in which Michael places Castiel brings a sense of dread to the pit of the Seraph’s would-be stomach. Michael begins to tighten the straps etched with Enochian sigils around the Seraph.

He thinks to Dean suddenly, and Jimmy. Will Dean find him, help him? An empty vessel is a beacon to all things evil. Jimmy is a good man if…

His thoughts are brought back to the present as Naomi pushes in a sterile stainless-steel cart and wheels it in front of the chair. Michael is no longer there, and Kushiel looks down upon him, a sadistic smile playing on two of her faces.

She picks up an angel blade and begins to drag it throughout his grace, causing the angel to wail as a Monarch butterfly falls to the ground – dead.

“You think you are special, do you brother? Because you went to Hell? You are no one.”

She plunges the blade further, causing Castiel to cry out once more, causing the Wi-Fi to go out on the entire east coast of the United States.

“You have disobeyed time and time again, Castiel, and we are here to ensure you will not do it anymore.”

The Seraph looks to her, pain apparent on all of his faces. His six wings furl in, trying to protect him.

Kushiel takes one of the smallest wings and holds it in her hand. She takes the blade and slices through, discarding the piece of wing she took with her onto the floor, grace seeping out as coagulated blood.

Pain seared through the angel’s wing, grace surging to make him whole. A fiery, electrical heat moves throughout his form as the wing seeps, his steadily draining grace struggling to heal the wound, struggling to repair his wing.

“Who do you serve?” Kushiel asks innocently as she wipes the blade on a cloth from the table.

Castiel does nothing but mutters, his life force moving in only one direction – to his damaged wing.

“You still have five wings brother, I suggest you answer. Who. Do. You. Serve?”

“Man.”

“Wrong answer.”

Kushiel makes her way around the Seraph and bunches the tips of one of his other wings in one of her celestial tendrils. She pulls as she slices the blade through that wing, a grace-freezing scream erupting from the angel strapped to the chair – causing a small number of ice caps to melt.

The angel’s grace runs throughout his form frenzied, unsure of where it is needed most. It runs in hurried waves, causing an unease in his pit, next to the blooming red – red that was now visible.

Naomi walks over to him cautiously, trying to avoid stepping in leaking grace. She looks at the red interestingly.

“That will be all Kushiel, I think you proved your point.”

“I have barely begun, Naomi.”

“If you continue, I will have no angel left for rehabilitation. And he is needed to persuade the Chosen One.”

Kushiel angrily leaves, replacing the blade on the table as she does so.

Naomi picks up another tool from the table – a much more precise one. It is a tool the angel is particularly fond of. It mimics a human dentist’s drill. It is the equivalent of electric, and very effective as getting to precisely the right spot.

She takes the tool in her well-trained tendrils of grace. She begins to work on the spot of red, drilling until she extracts it, the strapped angel screaming all the while.

She holds the red in her hand, a living thing. It seems to pulsate, and she notes how it appears to resemble a human heart.

*******

Castiel sits up, suddenly rises, and walks to the bedroom. Dean puts his book on the coffee table, the pillow next to him, gets up, and follows Cas.

He finds him in the bathroom splashing water on his face.

“Hey, Babe.”

“Dean.”

Cas braces himself on the bathroom counter with the palms of his hands. He meets Dean’s gaze in the mirror.

Dean walks over to him and places his arms around him, pulling Cas’s back into his chest.

Cas turns around, causing them to be face to face.

Dean places one hand on the small of Cas’s back and the other in his hair. He tilts the angel’s head until he is in a perfect position to kiss him fully, thoroughly, and wonderfully.

When he breaks away, he smiles as Cas chases his lips with his own.

“Hiya Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“That’s how we should’ve started this morning.”

“Why didn’t we?”

“Because you decided to fall for an idiot.”

Cas makes a ‘hum’ noise in a type of agreement and smirks, causing Dean to kiss the smirk away.

“Asshole.”

“You effectively distracted me.”

“Yeah, making out is good for that.”

“Is this how we will decide every argument?”

“I hope.”

Cas kisses him once more, his hands delicately slipping ever so slightly into the waistband of Dean’s pants. Dean presses them more fully against the counter before breaking away.

“Your dad is in the next room.”

Cas’s hands move back to Dean’s waist as he looks into his eyes.

“Yes, that is unfortunate.”

“But, uh, I think we should probably still talk later, you know, about stuff…”

“Must we?”

Dean shakes his head fondly.

“If we solve every argument like this, Sam will make us move out of the bunker real quick.”

Castiel chuckles slightly, causing Dean’s heart to warm.

“I suppose I have to go in there and finish this chapter.”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles sadly. He slips his hand under Cas’s shirt before whispering in his ear. “But, we can do some more distracting tonight.”

“After talking.”

“Yeah, Cas, after talking.”

They kiss once more before heading back into the living room.

*******

The angel who specialized in factory resets carefully placed the malformed grace into an Enochian spell-locked jar. She returned to her task as she once more picked up the drill.

“You have been in this chair many times throughout the centuries, Castiel.”

Wings dripping grace slowly began to reform, leaving the Seraph useless from exhaustion. Eyes loosely focused on her.

His thoughts drifted as he tried to feel, as he tried to remember what the Righteous Man inspired in him, he remembered something, but it seemed to only be an echo.

The buzzing sound meant nothing to him, his mind preoccupied with visions of a green-eyed man. The pictures played upon a screen as if one were watching some experimental movie. The order was nonsequential, and each one caused a type of hole to tear even further. The pit of grace was now empty.

_“Do you see all it’s colors Anna? Look at its beauty.”_

_The angel shook the head closest to her brother fondly. “It is a bird Cassie.”_

_“A toucan specifically. But look, sister, at the colors. Is it not a creature of magnificence?”_

_She looks to him then, an angel born of a star marveling at one of his Creator’s creations._

_“Yes, Castiel, magnificent.”_

“What is that? Fondness?” The words came out with disgust as the specialist carefully rooted out the memory with her drill.

Coldness froze a tendril of Castiel’s grace, ensuring one of the smallest pair of wings would always be singed.

_“Dude.”_

_The Seraph tilts his head at his charge, an action which causes the human to roll his eyes._

_“You ain’t ever had a hotdog before?”_

_“I do not need sustenance.”_

_“No one needs a hot dog, Cas.” Sam snorts out a laugh and chuckles even further when Dean glares at him, mouth full._

_“I do not understand.”_

_Dean begins to speak again, mouth still full. “What Sam means is that hotdogs may not be the ‘healthiest’ type of food, but they are fucking delicious.”_

_Dean hands the angel one as he and Sam lean against the Impala. It was a very rare break for them, and Cas just happened to seek them out on the occasion. It was almost perfect timing really. There was nothing world-ending going on, no seal that needed to be saved, no prophet that needed to be brought into the fold. It was what one might term a social visit and paid only because the angel felt something in the presence of the Winchesters._

_The angel took a bite, ketchup dripping onto the tan trench coat and then instantly disappearing. He chewed thoughtfully, not being sure when was the appropriate time to swallow. After 57 seconds, he finally swallowed. Only one thought entered his head at the time:_

_“Mastication is difficult.”_

_Dean choked on the bite that was in his mouth and Sam slapped him hard on the back while laughing. Their merriment and obvious enjoyment spread a pleasant warmth throughout the angel’s grace, and he smiled ever so slightly._

Naomi shudders at the memory, anger and embarrassment flowing freely throughout her grace. Whereas with other memories of one Dean Winchester where she left the memory but extracted the feelings, with this one, she removed the whole thing.

Dean Winchester.

After Naomi finished her job with the Seraph’s memories and cleaned her tool, seeping thick with grace, Dean Winchester was no more than a man, a simple job – a mission the angel was sent on.

There were no feelings of pride.

No frustration.

No camaraderie.

No friendship.

Naomi looked to the enchanted jar.

And no love.

*******

Dean swallows his rising emotion as one swallows an unpleasant shot of alcohol. He puts his book on the small table beside him and places one hand on Cas’s chest while using the other to brush back the man’s hair.

“Holy fuck Babe, you didn’t know you loved me?”

Cas closes his eyes, shutting out the beautiful face that changed the course of his existence, while also shutting out the pain.

“I have been forced to fall in love with you many times, Dean.”

That was a blow straight to Dean’s very human heart. He clears his throat, unable to say anything because there was nothing he could say, was there? Cas, who was reprogrammed and fucked up so many times, and it never really mattered in the end. Because here they were, on a couch in some fake dream house, clinging to each other as if they were the only things that mattered.

And right then, maybe they were.

Chuck’s ancient eyes surveyed the tableau in front of him. Castiel was his favorite. Yeah, okay, so he had that whole Lucifer thing, but it was never really true. Castiel was born from a star, from the love of his older brother. He liked to think Gabe’s love for Cas was metaphorical for his own love for humanity. There was no selfishness in it. Gabriel wanted Castiel to exist because he had so much love to give and he had to pour it out onto something. Originally, he wanted that too, to pour out all his excess love on Adam and Eve and their offspring.

But now? All these centuries later? The angels and humans both felt abandoned and one angel and two humans were trying to keep the whole shebang together. And for everything he created he couldn’t imagine why. What was so good about it anyway?

Maybe the answer was right in front of him.

*******

“So, how’s he looking?”

Zachariah looks expectantly to the angel standing over Castiel with what resembles a surgeon’s scalpel.

“He is almost ready, just a few more finishing touches. Hopefully ensuring this will never happen again.”

Zachariah places one of his tendrils on the cart, recoils, and wipes the tendril on a cloth that was hanging on the cart’s side.

“Oh, it’ll happen again.”

The instrument moves with precision as Naomi slices fiber after fiber.

“Why keep doing this? Why not eradicate him?”

Zachariah makes a type of shrug. “Entertainment?”

Naomi narrows her eyes at the angel staring at her tools. “What?”

Zachariah sighs, puffs of grace leaving his mouths and reintegrating once more. “Heaven was boring, Naomi, Cassie spiced things up. But now we need him for _Dean_.” The man’s name was said with disgust, with contempt, with perhaps a hint of jealously.

“Could not another angel inhabit his vessel and take on Cassiel’s identity?” Naomi continues to find small memories and cut them out, as one would a malignant growth. To her, they were just that. Emotions that were not meant to be, it was as if Castiel imprinted on a human, and that made her tendrils recoil.

“They’d know. They’ve _bonded_.” That word echoed the same emotions as _Dean_ has seconds before.

Naomi stood back from Castiel. Tendrils reached towards his form, exploring every wavelength. She could no longer feel anything out of the norm. He was back to factory settings – to his creation.

“He is ready. He will wake in a few moments.”

“Great. Leave.”

Naomi’s grace constricts in contempt as she follows Zachariah’s orders.

 _“Castiel, you son-of-a-bitch. You promised me my family would be okay! You_ promised _you were gonna take care of them! I gave you everything you asked me to give! I gave you more! This is the thanks I get? This is what you do? Your heaven?! Help me, please! You promised Cas! Just help me!_

The prayer from his vessel was angered, rushed, desperate. It woke the angel instantly.

“Welcome back Cassie, so, how ya feeling?”

“I do not understand what you mean by feeling. However, my vessel seems to be in some sort of distress. Should we be concerned?”

The Angel smiled slightly, his head bowed. He looked back up to the angel still strapped into the chair and began to remove the Enochian bindings.

“Yeah, we need him. But, the Winchesters got to him, so, you’re gonna have to possess his daughter, who is currently knocked out, in order to get him back.”

“I do not understand.”

Zachariah finishes undoing the bindings and inclines one of his heads towards Castiel.

“So, humans are fond of their offspring. It’s a thing. So, if you possess his kid, he’ll beg you to possess him instead and then we’ll get what we need. Just make sure to make it seem like we’re not overzealous about it.”

Castiel nods all of his heads at once, a solemn, placating gesture.

“I understand.”

*******

Dean moves his hand from Cas’s hair to wipe away a tear that escaped one of the angel’s eyes.

“She’s fine now, Cas.”

“I took away everything from her, Dean.”

Dean nods and inhales slowly.

“Look, man, so, uh, you got blown up what, four chapters later?”

“Three.” Chuck intercedes.

Dean glares. Chuck shrugs and replaces his glasses.

“Then Jimmy’s soul was released, right?”

“Yes.”

Dean pauses and addresses Chuck.

“Why did you build him back as Jimmy?”

Chuck removes his glasses and looks to Dean.

“Oh, uh, the fans. And again, I wasn’t on board with this whole love story thing, so I thought, hey! Back as Jimmy, fangirls will swoon, and Dean will control himself.”

Dean had far more questions, but he knew those could wait until his boyfriend wasn’t currently a mess in his lap.

“And like I told Claire, Babe, her father’s sacrifice allowed you to save the world.”

Cas looked up intently, deep blue meeting dark green – finding home.

“You said that to Claire?”

“Fuck yeah I did. I meant every word too.”

“You think I saved the world?”

Dean smiles slightly as he licks his bottom lip. “Yeah, I do.”

Chuck clears his throat, regrets not making Sam have some type of regular girlfriend if only as a means of escape for this awkward tension, replaces his glasses, and sets to type.

“Kay – next?”

*******

_“Daddy?”_

_The angel bends down in front of her, noting the eyes are the same ones he saw whenever he chanced a glance in a looking glass._

_“No, Claire, this is your father’s form but I am an angel – Castiel.”_

_“You are the one who took Daddy?”_

_“In a way, yes.”_

_The little girl looks from side to side, enveloped in a world she knows is too perfect. Even the promise of Spring is not this promising._

_“Where are we?”_

_“Inside a dream. Of yours.”_

_She looks down and examines a blade of grass. “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?”_

_“I am afraid you are, Claire.”_

_“Mommy was bad, she was,…”_

_“Possessed, yes. By a demon who wanted to get your father.”_

_“But those two guys they, they stopped it.”_

_Castiel looks at the grass the girl is still examining. He picks it up and hold it between his fingers. The angel blows gently on the blade, causing it to turn into a Monarch butterfly that lands on the girl’s hand. Her eyes meet the angel’s, full of an intensity Castiel momentarily thought no child should possess._

_“Even Sam and Dean can’t stop everything.”_

_“Can you?”_

_The Seraph nods. “With your help.”_

_“What can I do?”_

_“Allow me to help you Claire, say yes.”_

_The little girl looks to the butterfly on her hand, and nods with words barely audible: “Yes.”_

Castiel enters the vessel of one Claire Novak and the familiar feeling immediately washes over him. He is ready. And none too soon.

The angel’s eyes open as soon a demon swings a metal pole, attempting to murder Claire. Castiel catches the weapon, causing it to sizzle in the demon’s hand. Castiel reaches forward an arm and smites the demon leering over the body of a little girl.

The angel burns the ropes around the child’s mid-section and watches with slight interest as Sam and Dean Winchester fight off the other demons. The Seraph catches the eyes of its vessel, who is currently holding a mortal wound.

“Castiel.”

The angel walks to a demon punching Dean and smites that one as well, causing the body to fall to the floor. Together, they begin to walk to Sam, who they find drinking the blood of the demon he has on the ground.

Realization dawns on the angel. Sam Winchester was fueling his powers by the blood of a demon. He was truly unclean, something inside the angel recoiled at that word – unclean. Something that could not be explained and something most certainly Naomi would have cut out if she could have. 

After Sam saw them watching, he turned to kill the demon with the ancient knife.

Sam rises, and raises his arm towards them. Dean flinches and moves aside as the demon inhabiting Amelia Novak appears behind them. Sam easily exorcises the demon, causing the woman to cough.

The angel walked over to its true vessel, knowing its plan, its orders. Castiel kneels beside Jimmy and pushes the hair out of his face.

“Of course we keep our promises. Of course you have out gratitude. You served us well. Your work is done. It’s time to go home now – your _real_ home. You’ll rest forever in the fields of the Lord.”

“No.”

“Rest now, Jimmy.”

“No. Claire.”

And here it was, Castiel’s orders. His instruction to do whatever it takes to get Jimmy back. There was a hollowness somewhere in what would be his mind. Something an old man on a park bench would describe as a ‘piffling’. But Castiel couldn’t remember that now – that memory, like so many others, had been plucked out, discarded. He was as good as new, and where there should have been a piffling, there was nothing.

“She’s with _me_ now.”

Jimmy moves painfully, moans escaping sweat-streaked lips.

“She’s chosen. It’s in her blood, as it was in yours.”

“Please, Castiel. I mean, I just – just take me. Take me, please.”

And there is was – Zachariah’s order.

“I want to make sure you understand. You won’t die… or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred – a thousand more like it.”

Jimmy reaches out his hand and grabs the angel’s – his daughter’s – shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter. You take me. Just take me.”

Castiel sees so much pain there, in the eyes of his vessel. He hesitates for reasons unknown to him, reasons that should have been extracted. The hesitation is short, however, as the angel whispers:

“As you wish.”

Castiel places his small vessel’s hand on Jimmy’s face, his grace flowing from Claire Novak into her father.

With a cursory glance at the little girl who was his vessel only seconds before, he rises and walks to the brothers.

He looks back then, at Claire and her mother embracing. There is something the picture elicits, but there is no ability to put a tendril on what.

He begins to walk away, knowing he will soon receive orders, orders he must follow, orders he is proud to follow. He knows his true mission, and it is not the man calling him back.

“Cas, hold up.”

But the angel has enough there, enough history, to make him stop and turn around – albeit hesitantly.

“What were you gonna tell me?”

What indeed.

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean.”

_Grace seeping out onto a pristine floor._

“I serve Heaven, I don’t serve Man, and I certainly don’t serve _you_.”

*******

“Oh em me, that was such a great poetic last line. I’m good.”

Chuck shuts his laptop and looks at the two men on the couch. “Kay, so, uh, next is ‘when the levee breaks’, that’s when Cas turns in his first love to be tortured, and uh you go to him for help, Dean. Fun times. See you two tomorrow then.”

Chuck disappears and Cas sits up. He is sitting sideways on the couch with his head held in his hands.

Dean pulls his body on top of his and they lay there silent for a few moments.

“You are the only thing making this bearable, Dean. Thank you for being here.”

“Hey, are you kidding me?”

“I don’t understand?’

“Dude, you don’t get it do you?”

“Get what, Dean?”

Fuck it.

“I miss the hell outta Sam, yeah. But this, you and me? Fuck man, this has been what I’ve wanted for a hell of a long time. I mean yeah, I hid it, because you’re an angel and you never gave any indication that you wanted… and then now… you’re gonna… but look, I get to be with you with no monsters, no threats. And damnit Cas, I ain’t sorry.”

Castiel turned around so they would be face to face. He took Dean’s face gingerly into his hands and kissed his perfectly shaped dark pink lips ever so slightly.

“I love you Dean Winchester.”

“Damn right you do.”

Cas smirked and shook his head.

“What are you making me for dinner?”

“What if I ‘don’t serve you’?”

Cas grabbed one of the throw pillows and smacked it against Dean’s arm.

“Now who’s being the asshole?”

Dean pursed his lips comically and titled his head. “Still you.”

Cas rolled his eyes and replaced the pillow.

“I mean, if you really want me to cook I could…”

Dean interrupted him as he playfully shoved Cas to the other side of the couch.

“Yeah, no, I got this.”

*******

“Dean?” Cas inquired after a particularly thoughtful bite of mashed potatoes.

“Hum?”

“Can we have our discussion now so we can have distraction after dinner?”

Dean snorted and shook his head. “Who knew you’d be such a horn-dog?”

“I have waited a long time.”

“Yeah, you have.” Dean swallows a bite of meatloaf before continuing the thought. “But uh, you’re good with the whole uh, taking it slow thing, right? I just want this to be good Cas, not one of my typical fall into bed, or standing in a alley things.”

Cas inclined his head, making Dean wish he would not have added that last part.

“Of course, Dean. Whatever pace you wish.”

Dean clears his throat. “Good.”

“So, why were you angry with me this morning?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, uh, your grace, man. You told me it was failing, and I woke up in the hot ass sun in the perfect temperature. I knew that was your grace.”

“Hum.”

Cas continues to chew, and Dean has to check his anger.

“Hum, what?”

“My grace has been failing, yes. However, I am inclined to believe that doing some of the human things my vessel normally needs grace to make up for has caused my grace to regenerate.”

“What, like sleeping and eating?”

“Yes, those. Also, it has not been as proactive at regulating my emotions, as you can probably bear witness to.”

Dean shakes his head fondly.

“Okay, I get that it may be keeping it at your normal levels, but I don’t get the growing back bit.”

“Me neither, if I am being perfectly transparent.”

Dean thought back to Chuck’s squinted gaze and decided he didn’t like that one iota, but he sure as hell wasn’t gonna mention it to Cas.

“All right, your turn. I pissed you off this morning.”

“You did.”

Cas’s lack of expansion made Dean once more want to jump to anger, but again, he reeled it in and focused on Cas’s lips instead. Hey! That was a good technique.

“Ya wanna expound on that?”

“Of course. When you said you did not want my grace, it hurt me deeply. Because I would give the last drop of my grace to save you.”

Cas held up a finger as Dean was about to interrupt.

“However, my love, I can assure you, I would not intentionally use what I thought was limited grace to make sure you didn’t perspire.”

Dean chuckles and nods. “Gotcha.”

“My grace must have taken over while we were sleeping. My grace has not acted of its own accord in many years. It is nice to have the feeling back.”

“I’m gonna try to trust you, Cas, about your grace. But man, I don’t want to think about losing you, not again, not here.”

Cas looks down at his plate and nods solemnly, lips pursed.

“Here, we are safe. Chuck wants my story and would not let anything happen to me.”

“We won’t always be in here, Cas, and with the…”

“I know, Dean. And for _that_ , I am sorry.”

They take a few more bites in silence.

“But, uh, whatever time we do got, on the outside, I ain’t gonna let nothing get in the way of this.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“And look, we got time to think here, to research, we’re gonna get you out of that deal. And when we win, Sammy’s gonna get a house with Eileen, and we’re gonna get a place like this or some shit. You got it?”

Cas smiles, a sad thing. But he knows Dean needs this, this promise of something more than this to keep going, and he is going to give it to him.

“I got it.”

*******

Since dessert was ice cream, Dean thought he could entrust Cas with it.

He was right, Cas handed him the most beautiful sundae he had ever seen in his life.

“Turns out, I can accomplish cooking tasks if no heating is required.”

He took a bite of whipped cream and looked to Dean excitedly. “I can make us salads now!”

“Yipee.” Dean replies in a much less enthusiastic tone, which earns him a glare.

“Sam will appreciate my newfound skill.”

“You two can have it.”

“You need to be more aware of your health, Dean.”

“Dude, can’t you just heal my blocked arteries like you have been for years?”

Cas looks to him them, surprise written on a beautiful face.

“Come on, of course I knew. I basically keep the beef industry afloat.”

Cas allows a sort of laugh to escape his nose.

“I will as long as I can, my love.”

Dean takes their sundae glasses and puts them on the side table. He leans in towards Cas and takes his top lip gently between his own.

“I fucking love that pet name.”

Cas slides down into the sofa, with Dean on top of him.

“Have we finally gotten to the ‘distraction’ portion of the evening?”

Dean smirks, a beautiful sight to behold, and his angel is entranced.

“Damn right we have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I LOVE to hear from y'all - it truly makes me smile. I appreciate y'alls comments, kudos, and subscriptions so much!! :-)
> 
> Up next: "When the Levee Breaks"


	10. The Missing Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck's story - Castiel must deal with being newly reprogrammed. Thoughts and actions swirl throughout his grace leaving him confused, and feeling what he recognizes as the beginnings of doubt. 
> 
> Beach House - Cas and Dean continue to bond over Cas's incredibly painful memories. Dean discovers the best way he can comfort the angel, and three tiny (yet huge) words keep getting stuck in his throat. 
> 
> Covers 4.21: "When the Levee Breaks"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for the comments, the kudos, the bookmarks, and the subscriptions! I feel so honored to have such wonderful readers!
> 
> So, after watching the finale last week, I know how this tale is going to end when we have gone through the episodes (which will be quite the journey). Our tale, please remember dear readers, will be a happy one. Dean and Cas are most assuredly going to end up together, this I promise. And happily as well. :-) I couldn't write them and have them any other way. 
> 
> I do not own Supernatural or any other Show, Movie, Book, App, and/or website mentioned in this tale. 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: It gets dark here, y'all; and that is mainly because of the seals that were mentioned in 4.21. One in particular disturbed me, and it is included in this chapter. If you wish to skip it, it is after the Alaskan fisherman scene, and ends with the *******. It is mentioned later in the chapter, but not in such detail. 
> 
> Finally - I want to thank you all so, so much for taking this journey with me. This story is a joy to write and each of your comments and kudos inspire me. I am looking so forward to writing the next chapter as 4.22 will always be one of my favorite Castiel episodes. I hope I did this episode justice. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Thank you!

Dean woke to an empty bed and a full bladder. He was pretty sure he fell asleep on top of Cas on the couch and realizes the angel must have carried him to bed.

He most definitely did not blush at that, thank you very much.

After stumbling into the bathroom, showering, and changing into a tee and jeans, he walks straight to the coffee maker to find a note.

_There’s some of the creamer you pretend not to like in the refrigerator. ~Cas_

Dean chuckles as he opens the fridge to find Pumpkin Spice Creamer. He makes a cup for both he and his angel and heads to Cas’s favorite spot on the beach.

“Morning Sunshine.”

Dean hands his boyfriend the mug as he sits in the chair beside him.

Okay, so Dean was not the best at describing his feelings, but he was going to try here.

“So, uh, you weren’t in bed when I woke up.”

_I missed the hell out of you this morning. Your warmth, your frickin’ stubble, your body on top of, underneath, next to mine. I woke up because I could feel your fuckin’ absence, man._

Even the mere thoughts caused him to clear his throat.

Cas looks to him with a smile playing on the right side of his lips, probably knowing there was more behind Dean’s words.

“I woke on the couch and found myself unable to fall back asleep.”

Cas takes a thoughtful sip from his ‘City of Angels’ mug and looks to the horizon.

“Well, I know it ain’t cause we ganked the Sandman.”

Instead of producing the smile Dean loved to see, Cas looked to him with a furrowed brow.

“I know you are joking, Dean, however, I do not think that would be the worst of ideas.”

Fuck. Of course the Sandman was real. And of course he was a dick. They never caught a break.

“Do I wanna know?”

Cas shakes his head slightly as he once more looks to the sea in front of them.

“I seriously doubt it.”

Dean looks into his coffee, made milky by the delicious creamer.

“Uh, do I need to?”

Nostalgia hits the angel in the pit of his grace, and he gives Dean the smile the man was waiting for all morning.

“Not this time, my love.”

“Awesome.”

They continue to drink in silence, enjoying the view in front of and beside them. The Ocean kissing the shore over and over allowed Dean some emotional strength, and he decided to tell Cas how he _felt_ that morning. Go figure.

“So, uh, when you weren’t there this morning…”

“Did you think I was unsafe, Dean?”

Dean makes a sort of stoic face that is slightly deadpan, and slightly stern.

“Let me finish, Cas.”

“Of course.”

“Well, uh, you weren’t there. I didn’t freak out, cause I smelled coffee. But you, you help me sleep I guess. I uh, could tell you weren’t there.”

Cas smiles slightly, and Dean can’t help himself.

“Asshole.”

“There is not another morning I will let dawn here where we will not wake by one another’s side.”

Dear Chuck, Dean fell in love with a fucking poet. He feels the need to roll his eyes and smile like an idiot at the same time.

“Good.”

After a couple more sips of really good coffee, Dean decides to probe. I mean, he let his emotions hang all over the place this morning, why shouldn’t Cas?

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

Castiel sighs, a weighted thing, and Dean almost regrets asking. _Almost_. They were a couple now, or whatever, and needed to discuss things. I mean, that’s how it worked right?

“I dreamt of turning in Anna.”

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have asked.

“There was something there, but only an echo of what was.”

Cas leans forward, his mug between two pristine hands Dean tried very hard _not_ to focus on.

“Your love was removed man, along with memories. The fact there was even an echo…”

“You are too kind to me, Dean.”

A sardonic laugh escapes dark pink lips.

“Fuck, Cas, I am anything but too kind to you. What I’ve done? What I’ve said?”

His angel looks to him then, dark blue eyes piercing, a hint of grace behind them that leaves Dean speechless.

“You are my everything, Dean Winchester. My love for you knows no bounds. It is as vast as the fabricated Ocean in front of us. As I said before, what has been said or done betwixt us is behind us.”

Dean licks his bottom lip and forces his eyes away from the intensity of the Seraph’s stare. It is times like this when Cas’s _holiness_ overwhelms him.

“I got it, Babe.”

“Good.”

Oceanic eyes once more look towards the sea that shares their color.

“And I know you got to relive this shit, and I know it fucking hurts. But Cas, you’re…”

Dean reaches out a hand to guide Cas’s chin so they lock eyes once more.

“You’re a good man, a good angel, a good _Winchester_.”

Well, fuck it all, Dean did not mean for that to come out, but there is was – and Dean wouldn’t replace that look on his boyfriend’s face for anything. There were tears in his eyes for Chuck’s sake, and a smile that warmed the darkest parts of Dean’s very soul.

It was almost too intense, and Dean had to break it up somehow, because hey, still Dean Winchester here.

“And a fucking fantastic kisser.”

The smile and tears turned into a laugh and Dean’s stomach suddenly felt as if it were a bundle of nerve endings, each jumping around of their own accord.

Dean draws Cas’s face closer to his and they share a sweet kiss while the Ocean looks on, steady as always.

*******

Okay, so maybe Dean looked up a new recipe on Pinterest he wanted to try while Cas was setting up their second date. Oh wait – that meant he was in charge of the third. And he knew that date needed to happen the day when Cas fell for him – the first time.

Cas wraps his arms around Dean from behind when the hunter is looking in the fridge for canned crescent rolls and Dean knows (as if he didn’t before) he is so fucking whipped.

“If you don’t let me go, I won’t be able to make breakfast, and a fed Chuck is bad enough.”

Cas buries his head in-between Dean’s shoulder blades and makes a non-committal noise.

“What’s that, angel?” Dean asks cheekily.

Cas lifts his head and releases Dean to lean against the counter.

“I am not looking forward to this.”

Dean notices the slight purplish tint under his boyfriend’s pristine eyes. He sits the bacon, eggs, and crescent rolls next to Cas and traps his body with his own, encompassing the angel.

Dean places a kiss to Cas’s forehead, trailing down to each eye, then his nose, to land on perfect lips, slightly agape, waiting for him.

“I’ll be right here Babe. I ain’t going nowhere. And uh, if you want something to look forward to, I’m gonna plan our third date for tomorrow night.”

Cas looks to him, pupils overcoming azure.

“And tonight?”

Dean tilts his head as he whispers in Cas’s right ear, enjoying it thoroughly when he feels the angel’s breath hitch.

“More of this.”

He steps away, going about his cooking, trying to ignore the angel he left, still bracing himself against the counter.

Dean swallows and focuses really intently on popping open the can of dough.

*******

Chuck appeared in his customary chair just as Dean put his plate on the small table next to him.

“This looks amazing, Dean. Did you two have a good night?”

Dean and Cas both simply stare at the ancient deity.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Chuck mumbles as he bites into his layered breakfast casserole.

He swallows and looks at the human. “Pinterest?”

Damn it all, Dean smiled a fraction.

“Yeah.”

“Good stuff here.”

Chuck scrunches his eyes at his son, and Dean feels his stomach start. Chuck’s eyes go back to normal as he sets his fingers over his keyboard.

“Okay, Cas, so you just left Dean, took over Jimmy’s body again, and took off. So, let’s start after you left him, yeah?”

Cas nods slightly. “Of course.”

*******

A man and woman in their early thirties sit down with their newly adopted girl and watch as she clumsily picks up foam pieces of a puzzle. They aid her in its construction as she places the pastel colored pieces in different patterns on a wood floor.

Castiel tilts his head as he reads the letters written across her onesie: “Chloe”. The Seraph does not understand why he came here, not really. He left Dean Winchester and appeared in front of a modest dwelling in Boulder, Colorado. It seemed almost as if the flight were habit, albeit one he could not remember.

“That’s weird, do you remember there being a piece missing, honey?”

The woman with soulful brown eyes and beautiful black hair looks to her husband – a man whose eyes Castiel feels akin to, again for reasons unknown.

“No, but it’s been awhile since we pulled this out.”

The woman smiles as she absent-mindedly plays with her daughter’s growing hair.

“Yeah, since we fostered Lizzie.”

Her husband tilts her chin so their eyes can meet.

“Babe, Lizzie got to go back to a loving mom who just went through a rough patch. And look, now we got Chloe and we are going to give her the best life any person can have.”

The woman nods and smiles sadly as her husband places a sweet, chaste kiss to her lips.

She runs her fingers over the nearly completed puzzle that is missing one solitary piece.

“It’s a lot like this puzzle, isn’t it? Where Lizzie took a piece of our puzzle, and Chloe fills it?”

He looks to her thoughtfully, one hand on his daughter, one running through his wife’s hair.

“Maybe. But, where a piece no longer exists, another can patch up the missing space, but not fill it completely – because no two pieces are the same. Chloe is just another part of our puzzle, where she makes us more complete.”

Brown eyes looks deeply into green and Castiel feels the need to look away.

For reasons he can’t determine, for reasons he cannot ascertain, Castiel feels as if pieces are missing from his puzzle and he is... incomplete.

*******

Fuck it all, this was gonna be a hell of a chapter.

Dean hated Chuck even more – as if that were possible.

He picks up all their plates, angrily puts them in the dishwasher, and sits back on the couch.

Cas looks to him with a furrowed brow and Dean answers his unasked question by pulling the angel’s body onto his own.

He whispers into his ear.

“I got you, Cas.”

Chuck moves his jaw slightly to one side as he looks at the beings in front of him. Where did he go wrong? Was it that whole ‘free-will’ thing? I mean, okay, that was kinda sorta a delusion, but come on, they still made their own choices, I mean look at those two.

Here he was, the ultimate author, an author who tried to make Dean the definitive manly-man. A man who slept with waitresses with a fake name. But that was at the beginning wasn’t it? There were still some of those aspects in Dean Winchester. He still appreciated a good ass and a nice rack, but there was so much more than the grunt he tried to originally write.

He was no longer the daddy’s boy – the good solider. And frankly, neither was Cas. There was a spark there, more than grace and soul combining in Hell. It was _Love_. And Chuck knew the power of that word. A word that caused the construction and demolition of so many things.

He knew how their story would end – it was written long ago. They were simply on a detour so he could write a best-seller about a wayward angel.

But he had to admit, he was enjoying the scenic route. A human and an angel who would give anything for one another. Dean held onto Cas like he was holding him together with calloused hands and muscled arms. Chuck feels a slight chuckle in his throat as he realizes even he couldn’t come between _love_. But he was going to get a hell of a story out of it.

“Yeah, that’s nice, but uh, we need to get going.”

*******

Castiel scrunched his brow as he heard a summoning from his superior.

_“Castiel, meet me at The Haven in Providence, Rhode Island.”_

The Seraph flew instantly and arrived at a cozy tavern. He approaches his superior solemnly – the perfect solider.

“Ah good, you’re here. We’re gonna go over your assignments for the day.”

Castiel sits opposite Zachariah, everything gone except devotion for the cause.

“So, uh, three demons are gonna break some seals today, and I need you to make sure they’re able to, kay?”

A slight nod reveals cooperation.

“Great. So, uh in Key West a few species are gonna go extinct, uh, some fisherman in Alaska are going to be struck blind, and last but not least – a teacher in New York is going to kill sixty-six of her students, got it?”

The Seraph nods once more. He feels _something_ tug at the fabric of his existence, but he can’t determine what it is.

“Okay, and then, we got Dean on watch, but he’s going to call you because he’s got his brother on lock-down and he’s probably going to want your help. Go to him – but don’t rush and be sure to seal the deal. You know, make him do the whole ‘you pledge your service to God and his angels bit’. Ooh, and throw in some line about being his dad’s pathetic grunt in there for kicks. Let’s see, and uh, we’ve got to catch Anna.”

“How can I assist with that?”

“Well, you two have a history, Cassie.”

Castiel looks to the table. He sees a grain of salt and traces its origin to the Dead Sea. A molecule of savor that came from the place where the Son trod. Again, his grace pulls uncomfortably within his vessel.

“We served together Zachariah, I hardly see how that denotes a ‘history’.”

“Trust me soldier.”

“As you wish. How am I supposed to summon her?”

“Right, well after you answer Dean-o’s prayer, you’re going to release the unholy one from his drying out room.”

“I do not understand.”

“You don’t need to. Anyway, Anna will be self-righteously pissed at that and come see you, and we’ll uh, capture her.”

The grace tightens even further, and the Seraph shifts in his seat.

“What if she does not come?”

Zachariah raises his glass to his lips and smiles around the rim.

“She will.”

*******

Dean feels his boyfriend become rigid and he begins to rub his arms up and down.

Castiel loosens somewhat and continues his tale.

*******

An unnamed demon touches the water with a long finger as the Seraph watches undetected. The water ripples with the action, and creature after creature surfaces, belly up. The demon flashes black eyes as it smiles with an otherworldly type grin, freezing grace within an angel born from a star.

***

He moves on then, does Castiel, to a ship off the coast of Alaska.

“Drink to your health Reggie, God knows you need it.”

“Can it Al, you’re the one who’s got the itch.”

The other fishermen laugh joyously, happy from their day’s haul of fine salmon.

“Shut it Reg, I’m warning you.”

“Ah, lighten up Al, he’s just joshing you anyway.”

The seventh fisherman, a man with bright blue eyes and a blond beard walks among them, possessed. He lifts his hands and the men drop their glasses and hold their hands over their eyes.

“I can’t see!”

“I’m blind!”

“Help!”

Cries go unanswered as a lone angel flies away, making sure one last seal is broken.

***

Castiel watches as a demon possesses a young schoolteacher. Her eyes go from hazel to black and the Seraph feels _something_ as a pull to his grace becomes almost too strong to ignore.

“All right class, we have Mrs. Backwater’s and Mr. Johnson’s class joining us for a small assembly.”

“Where is Mrs. Backwater?” A boy asks, a hint of accusation apparent in his tone.

Castiel looks closer and notices the child has the _sight_. The grace pulls, and a rosebush in Maine withers into the ground, leaving a small sinkhole behind.

The Seraph stands steadfast, obeying orders he knows must be _right_. Heaven commanded it, therefore it is just.

Wasn’t it?

“Shut up child!” The demon possessing Miss Lily yells, quieting the room.

The demon smooths out the dress of the teacher it is wearing and smiles in a manner it must think is kindly – but sorely misses the mark.

“There. So, we are going to have a little party, children. All of us. Now…”

She crosses the room to retrieve a very large pitcher of some type of red drink the angel knows contains a very potent poison. The boy with the sight stares at her, and Castiel notes he is the sixty-seventh child.

One by one the children line up to take a cup from their former benevolent teacher’s hands. They sip as they also take chocolate chip cookies from a plate that contain arsenic, just in case the Kool-Aid was ineffective.

All except one.

This was right, this was just, Heaven commanded it. And yet…

Children begin clutching their stomachs in unison, like some sick choreographed dance. The Seraph looks away, disgusted, but knowing this had to be right, his superior told him it was right. These children would soon be in paradise. This was okay, it was right, it was just…

“Why?”

Castiel looks down at a small boy who shouldn’t have been able to see him, not on this plane. His bright brown eyes were brimming with tears as he looks to the Angel he shouldn’t have been able to see.

“It was commanded.”

“By Jesus?”

No, not by the Son. Not by the kind man with a soul that burned brighter than even that of the righteous man. _Dean_. The pit widens in Castiel’s grace and he feels empty as the missing piece makes itself known regarding the man with green eyes he pulled from the pit of hell. But he can’t place it, he can’t _feel_ it, and he addresses the boy not as an Angel who _loved_ , but as a soldier obeying orders.

“No, by Heaven.”

“But…”

A stern look from dark blue eyes silences the boy. Sixty-six children lay dead in front of him and Castiel looks to the demon responsible.

“It is done.”

The demon looks to the boy, eyes black. The boy shuffles closer to the invisible angel, and then – he disappears.

***

They land in front of the boy’s home. He looks to Castiel then, surprise written on a young face. A face that had seen too much and yet not enough.

“You saved me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

*******

Fuckity fuck fuck. That was terrible.

Dean cradled Cas’s head against his shoulder as the Angel shed tears for the sixty-six children he was commanded to watch die.

Dean knew there was nothing he could say here, nothing that would make this better. So, he kissed the top of Cas’s head over and over while rubbing his arms and pressing them as close together as possible.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

But it didn’t come out. It was stuck in his throat like a pill that wouldn’t go down.

So he kissed, he held, and he hoped like hell Cas knew.

Ancient eyes cared not, for they only wanted the story.

*******

He knew the mountain held a type of respite he usually sought solace in – but he did not understand why. It was another piece of the missing puzzle. A puzzle the angel would be remiss to try and put together – for so many pieces had been destroyed or locked away in a spelled jar.

He heard his charge screaming, hoping, praying for an intervention. However, he was told to wait. So, wait he did. He waited atop a mountain he knew was meaningful. Waited as snow blew past him. Waited as he stood – an immobile object on a mount with the world spinning at his feet.

When he did go to him a train whistled in the distance – an unwelcome sound after the quiet of the mountain.

He watches as Dean looks around, exasperated. He looks distraught. Castiel feels as if he perhaps should care, but the emotion evades him. The angel can tell the moment Dean feels him as the hunter turns around, angrily of course.

“Well, it’s about time, I’ve been screaming myself hoarse out here for about two and a half hours now.”

_I know_. _And I don’t care. Do I?_

“What do you want?”

It seemed unnatural, those words coming from his lips. And yet, those were the appropriate ones, were they not? Would Zachariah not say something along those lines? He felt sure he would.

“Well, you can start with what the hell happened in Illinois.”

_Grace seeping, wings broken, cut, burned, singed._

Castiel approached his charge as he spoke:

“What do you mean?”

Ignorance. Feigned of course.

“Cut the crap you were gonna tell me something.”

_I was, but now I can’t. Or I won’t. Or maybe I just don’t care. Do I? Care?_

“Well, nothing of import.”

“You got ass-reamed in Heaven.”

They were within one another’s space now, and it felt familiar, it felt _right_. So right in fact, Castiel felt the need to look away.

“But it was not ‘of import’?”

“Dean.”

Castiel looks back then into green eyes, and something ‘clicks’. He is unsure of what it is, but he wants to tell the Righteous Man all over again. He wants to let him run if he so chooses.

“I can’t.”

It pains him, those two words. But why? Why does he want to let the man go? Why does he want him to know of his fate? Fate. Destiny. His mission.

“I’m sorry.”

Was he? In the pit of his grace something began to itch, a feeling Castiel could not ignore no matter how much he tried. The itching caused him to apologize – and mean it.

But it didn’t matter, not really. His mission was still at the forefront of his mind. He was a soldier, Dean was a job. He walks away to escape the intensity he felt. He needed Dean to ‘seal the deal’.

“Get to the reason you _really_ called me. It’s about Sam, right?”

“Can he do it?”

Castiel looks back, wondering just what it is Dean means.

“Kill Lilith, stop the apocalypse?”

Why did that sound _wrong_? The angel’s hesitation lasted for such an insignificant amount of time a human would miss it – and one did.

“Possibly, yes.”

The angel whose love for the man standing in front of him was forcibly removed in a chair with Enochian bindings turned to face the man he pulled from Hell once more.

“But as you know, he’d have to take certain steps.”

What was this – pain? No, angels didn’t feel that type of pain. Sam was unholy, surely Castiel did not care if he consumed copious amounts of demon blood. But he didn’t have to, Sam wasn’t in the deal.

“Crank up the hell-blood regimen.”

Castiel wondered why the hunter spoke so strangely. He also wondered why he found it mildly amusing and exasperating at the same time.

“Consuming the amount of blood it would take to kill Lilith would change your brother forever.”

And here it was – the perfect opportunity to get Dean to ‘seal the deal’. Castiel would capitalize on Dean’s protectiveness over Sam. A very small, nearly insignificant piffling emerged at the back of the angel’s mind as he uttered the next words with a conviction he surprised himself with:

“Most likely, he would become the next creature that you would feel compelled to kill.”

_Piffle._

Green eyes, set jaw, and a slight swallow cause another feeling:

_Itch_. In the pit of grace.

“There’s no reason this would have to come to pass, Dean.”

Castiel moves closer, unable to be too far from the hunter, a sort of invisible rope pulling him in, guiding him grace to soul. _Seal the deal_.

“We believe it’s you, Dean. Not your brother. The only question for us is whether you’re willing to accept it. Stand up and accept your role. You are the one who will stop it.”

Castiel can see it then, he watches intently as Dean’s expression turns from one of helplessness to one of decisiveness. The pit itches more as the piffling makes itself known.

“If I do this… Sammy doesn’t have to?”

Castiel feels _it_ then. The itch turns into something else, something he is unsure of, something he feels as if he never experienced before, but it is warm, as if it were a small flame working furiously to fill a hole he was not aware he had.

_Seal the deal_.

“If it gives you comfort to see it that way.”

Why did he use that phrasing? Because it was true? Because it was kind? No, that wasn’t kind.

Dean scoffs and moves away.

“God, you’re a dick these days.”

_These days?_ Castiel did not understand, was Dean under the impression they were _friends_? Strange. The warmth remained small, but steady, and Castiel hid it.

Castiel remains unmoved as Dean walks away, thinking.

“Fine. I’m in.”

_Seal the deal_.

Without moving from his place, Castiel speaks:

“You give yourself over wholly to the service of God and his angels?”

Zachariah’s words. His commander’s words. His orders. This was right, this was just.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

_Seal the deal._

“Say it.”

Castiel knew Heaven was very particular on its phrasing.

_“Who do you serve?” Grace everywhere._

An incredulous Dean Winchester turns to face the angel then, the junkyard’s various scraps of cars casting shadows a chiseled face.

Heat everywhere. Castiel wondered where the sensation came from, where it originated. He quickly scans the area but finds nothing out of the ordinary.

“I give myself over wholly to serve God…”

Dean walks closer then, and the heat inexplicably intensifies.

“And you guys.”

They are once more in close proximity, Castiel finds himself unable to look away from Dean’s eyes, he likens the feeling to a type of spell, one he seems unable to break.

_“Who do you serve?”_

_“Dean…”_

_Seal the deal._

“You swear to follow his will, and his word as swiftly and obediently as you did your own father’s?”

The rigidity in the man’s face once more appeared.

“Yes. I swear.”

_The deal is sealed._

The angel looks up in wonder at the man in front of him. Awe and wonder. He nods his head slightly. He did in fact “seal the deal” but not to any personal satisfaction. In fact, he felt _colder_ somehow.

“Now what?”

“Now you wait.”

_Wait to be consumed by my older brother – burnt out into a shell, a husk._ A small warmth flickers and threatens to go out.

“And we call on you when it’s time.”

A shiver moves through the angel and he keeps his eyes trained on the man in front of him – searching. Searching for the source of the warmth, searching for why the pit of his grace now felt as if it could be whole again, searching for why this man would be his missing piece.

A foam puzzle piece on a cold wooden floor.

*******

Cas breaks free from Dean’s grasp to go to the lanai.

Dean immediately follows.

Glass doors close gently behind him and he wraps his body around that of his boyfriend’s, his head resting on Cas’s shoulder.

“Talk to me, Babe.”

“I… I got you into that, Dean… I…”

Dean turns him suddenly around so they will be face to face.

“No. You jumped on my ass this morning for talking about stuff I said a couple months ago and what, it’s okay for you to be hard on yourself for something that happened over a decade ago? Bullshit.”

“Dean, it’s as if it happened today.”

“I get that Babe, I do, but look man, all right, we’re here, and we’re good, and I…”

Blue eyes search green as they did all those years ago and Dean once more chokes on the words.

“I need you Cas, okay?”

Cas looks down to a perfectly tiled floor and Dean could kick himself, but hey, he wasn’t gonna change overnight. Words that came out only to his mom weren’t gonna jump outta his throat. Of course he _loved_ the angel, but he couldn’t say it yet.

Dean tilts Cas’s head up and kisses him, the intensity of the gesture surprising the angel.

Cas breaks away breathless, and Dean is impressed he was able to draw breath from a celestial being.

“My father is in the other room, Dean.”

“Fuck it, Babe. I don’t give a shit.”

“I understand you are trying to comfort me, but I know what comes next.”

Dean’s brow furrows.

“Not next with this. I am rather looking forward to the next with this.”

Dean smirks and shrugs, pleased with himself. He scratches the back of his head and gives his angel a wink.

Cas rolls his eyes and smiles.

“I let Sam out of the panic room next.”

Dean nods and looks to the floor. As he looks back up, he pulls Cas to him.

“I don’t care.”

“Dean, I…”

“Was tortured in Heaven because you _liked_ me, because you were gonna warn me, because you _loved_ me, and you think I’m gonna hold you accountable for anything you did after what they did to you?”

Cas looks to him softly, as if all the universe’s answers are held in Dean’s face – and for Castiel, maybe they are.

“And do you think I don’t know you would’ve saved those kids if you didn’t have to regrow all the parts of you that gave a damn? I know you Cas, and you, fuck Babe, you are the best of all of us.”

Dean kisses his boyfriend’s forehead before putting him at arm’s length.

“You ready to go finish this chapter?”

With a slight, affirmative nod, Dean leads Cas back to the couch with a steady hand.

*******

The angel stands behind a staircase in Bobby Singer’s basement, staring at the solid iron door of a room no regular creature could stand a chance against. But then, he wasn’t regular, was he?

He didn’t understand this part, not truly. Of course, Dean had to be obtained.

_Piffle_.

Of course, Anna had to be captured – she rebelled.

_Piffle._

But letting Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood, out? What was the means to this end? Should he know? Was this something he was not allowed to know? Was this above his pay grade? Why did he even know that term?

Questions. Was this _doubt_?

No, it couldn’t be doubt. He was an angel, he didn’t doubt. He knew his plan was just – it was from Heaven after all.

And yet… there burned an inexplicable flame in the midst of his grace. He kept it hidden, for it was a small, red thing easily disguised in the folds of wavelengths. He knew whatever it was, was not common, not something to display like the emerald green of righteous pride. Oh no, this was scarlet, sanguine, and most assuredly not condoned.

The angel pushes what he feels must be an anomaly aside as he undoes Sam’s bindings with a tendril of grace.

As he pulls the tendril back, he unlocks the door, opening it to give Sam escape.

“Hello? Is somebody here?”

He watches with piqued curiosity as the youngest Winchester climbs the stairs.

His work from this point is easy – make it seem as if a demon broke Sam out. Again, the angel could not fathom why. Dean was the one to save them all, not Sam. But, orders were orders. Weren’t they?

Castiel uses grace to close and bolt the door once more. He destroys the Devil’s traps, ensuring it will look like the escape was not aided with the help of angels.

While the next task was no more involved than his previous one, it seemed to be more taxing on his grace. The missing pieces of the puzzle that was the angel made themselves known as he stood on the industrial bridge overlooking the city, waiting for his sister.

Lying in wait.

That was wrong, wasn’t it? One of the sins? _Piffle_. And yet, those were his orders, laying a trap for a sister Zachariah believed would follow him. But why? Their meetings had not been exceptional, yes, she was his leader at one point, they watched humanity together, but what more than that? A hole longed to be filled – and an angel ached.

He felt her before he saw her. When he turned around and looked at her form – her true form behind the vessel - something once again began to itch, and the angel felt tired.

“What did you do?”

It was accusatory, and everything Zachariah hinted it would be.

_Why did she come?_

“You shouldn’t have come, Anna.”

He knew that then. He wasn’t sure why he knew it, but he did. His vessel’s face betrays his mixture of inner turmoil and doubt. Her piece of his puzzle that was missing was screaming at him, demanding his attention, telling him to warn her – and yet, he heard nothing. Except, perhaps, an echo.

“Why would you let out Sam Winchester?”

The truth for an angel going to her doom.

“Those were my orders.”

“Orders?”

The angel looks down, knowing his ‘orders’ didn’t stop there.

“Cas… you saw him. He’s drinking demon blood. It’s so much worse than we thought.”

The piece screams so loudly from a void, from an ethereal plane, the Seraph’s face wears its pain.

“Dean was trying to stop him.”

Wings land behind her, a brother and a sister sent to take her home.

_“Water.”_ A clay pot with a drop on a man’s tongue burning eternally upside down on a cross in the pit of hell – the betrayer.

_Anna_. It’s thought, it’s spoken, it’s a prayer – it’s from a piece of a puzzle floating alone in the ether.

“You really shouldn’t have come.”

He looks away, does the angel. For a small gnawing takes place on the corners surrounding an empty space on a whole picture – a picture that can’t be seen for all its voids.

Just an angel – no more, but certainly much less.

*******

Chuck chews on the end of his glasses thoughtfully as he closes the laptop. He looks to his son and Dean Winchester sitting on the couch, not a molecule of space between them. He nods slightly.

“So, that chapter was longer than I thought. Tomorrow we get to cover Cas’s fall, and I make a reappearance. Exciting.”

Dean closes his eyes as he buries his nose in Cas’s hair.

Chuck clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“Right. Well, uh, tomorrow then.”

A 'snap' takes the Ancient Being from a modern chair. 

“You uh, wanna lay down for awhile, Babe?”

Castiel looks to Dean gratefully.

“Yes. Will you lay with me?’

Dean smiles as he manages a suggestive wink with tears threatening his eyes. “Why do you think I asked? Gotta make up for the time you ditched me this morning.”

Cas simply shakes his head bemusedly. He rises and takes Dean’s hand to lead them to the bedroom.

“Pajamas, Cas. You ain’t getting on the clean sheets in jeans.”

Castiel takes the clothes from Dean’s hands and shuffles into the bathroom.

When Cas emerges, Dean is already laying on his back, complete in hot dog pajama pants, staring at the ceiling.

Cas manages a slight smile as he lays down next to the love of his life. He wraps his legs around Dean’s and places his head on the hunter’s chest. Dean begins to rub his back up and down as Cas does the same to Dean’s flank.

“Babe?”

“Hum?”

Okay, so maybe this was a loaded question, and maybe Dean shouldn’t ask right now when Cas was almost asleep, but he was curious, sue him.

“Uh, so you talk about Jesus some, right? Where is He in this whole thing?”

He can feel as Cas smiles against the thin material of his t-shirt.

“Spoilers.”

Dean playfully rolled his eyes as he bemoaned allowing Cas and Sam to binge watch shows together.

“Yeah, whatever, get some sleep.”

“You too, my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I LOVE to hear from y'all! Comments make my day and kudos warm my heart! :-D
> 
> Up Next: "Lucifer Rising"


	11. Castiel Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck's Story: Castiel wrestles with obedience and the ball of grace forming in his pit. He receives guidance from an unexpected and helpful source. 
> 
> Beach House: Dean listens intently as Castiel recounts his story of his falling, and prepares their third date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by y'alls reception of this fic. I cannot tell you how much your kudos, subscriptions, and your lovely comments have meant to me. Thank you so, so much lovely and wonderful readers. You are beyond fantastic. Your comments and kudos have helped me not only to write but in other areas of my life as well. It has been a difficult past few months and when I would think of how lovely yall's comments have been, they helped me immensely Thank you so much!!
> 
> This chapter took awhile to get out, and for that I apologize. I struggled writing this one. I knew what I wanted to do, but the execution proved difficult. This episode was a lot to unpack, with Castiel's guilt and ultimate rebellion. Which stemmed from a love he did not yet understand. I hope what I have written gives the episode at least a hint of the justice it deserves. 
> 
> For their third date, I have included links to the songs Dean uses in his playlist for Cas. If you have been kind enough to read any of my other fics, you will probably recognize one of the songs. I appear to be quite a sucker for that song. :-) 
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Zachariah is a dick. No surprise there really. The video to Hozier's "Take Me To Church" is intense if you choose to watch it. It is beautifully done and is the love story of two men who are persecuted for that love. The lyrics are beautiful, and I thought it was an apt addition. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading. I appreciate you all more than I can express.

_Castiel feels his grace move throughout his true form in uneasy waves – knowing what it is soon to come. The feeling is unpleasant, it reminds him of the form of a hapless fish that accidentally heaved itself upon dry land, writhing in uncertain anxiety as air fills its gills. The flopping, the dis-ease, the utter inability to change anything – that is what pulsates throughout the angel’s grace._

_The Son looks on at his disciples with righteous pride – emerald green when displayed on grace. He pats them on their backs jovially, as if His time were not in fact nigh. Castiel notices the peace the Son has, peace held in kind brown eyes and a warm smile with slightly crooked teeth._

_He speaks to them earnestly, generously, as one would speak not to those he considered servants or followers, but rather the closest of friends._

_The lone angel watches the tableau in front of him – many eyes wide with awe, and many more closed with grief. Castiel knew the time was drawing to a close, that the Son would be killed to save that which was lost. He listens with ethereal ears to some of the last words the Son would speak as a mortal human:_

_“These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full. This is my commandment, that ye love one another, as I have loved you. Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:11-13 KJV)_

_Castiel often wondered what type of legacy the Son would leave behind. He knew that of Solomon, of David, Abraham, Issac, Ishmael, and Jacob. He knew that of Eve, Ruth, and Esther. He thought of how the Christ would live throughout the times, he wondered how the words he heard now that came from the man’s dry, chapped, wind-worn lips would be retold throughout history. He wondered if they would change the world._

_Joy._

_Love._

_Sacrifice._

_He wished for those to be the legacy of Him, the Christ, the Son, the man with the kind eyes and weather-worn face._

_Faintly, he hears a voice – deep, yet soothing, calling to him._

_“Cas?”_

_He looks to the temple behind him and sees a small shimmering stone._

_“Cas?”_

_He walks towards it cautiously, grace floating effortlessly in the hot sun._

_“Cas?”_

_He picks it up with a long tendril of grace – an emerald, calling to him._

_“Cas!”_

The angel opens sapphire eyes quickly and blinks rapidly, allowing Dean’s furrowed brow to come into view, the emerald pervading his dreams on full display. He quickly took note of Dean’s increased heartbeat and slightly flushed face. The angel placed long fingers on Dean’s cheek, feeling the heat that had risen there.

“What’s wrong my love?”

Dean releases a breath he only then realized he was holding. He lowers his head to his pillow and moves Cas’s hand from his cheek to over his heart.

“You were having some weird ass dream, man, I don’t know. You were speaking in Hebrew, and it scared the shit outta me. I guess I ain’t ever heard you dream.”

Hebrew? The Son.

Cas nods as he moves from his back to his side, allowing himself to curl into Dean.

“The dreams were one of the reasons I fought sleep for so long. When I was human, they were terrifying, often my ‘greatest hits’ as you might call them. Slaughtered angels, bloody humans. I only took the chance of sleeping now because it would be next to you, and you do seem to quell most of them.”

“Cas, I uh…”

The angel interrupts his boyfriend, not for the sake of interrupting, but to quash whatever guilt the man was about to internalize or admit.

“This dream though, wasn’t a nightmare, or even unpleasant. It was of the Son, shortly before he was killed.”

Dean, curiosity piqued, stills his hand on Cas’s back, causing the angel to burrow into his chest further and make a discontented sigh. Dean chuckles slightly as he resumes the soothing up and down motion.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“It was when the Christ was with his disciples, and He was telling them of His commandment.”

Dean barely whispers, but Cas hears, not only because he is a celestial being with super-human hearing, but because he is Castiel listening to Dean Winchester, and Cas could hear a yearning, an unspoken prayer, a murmur, Castiel could hear Dean’s _thoughts_ without trying.

“Love one another, as I have loved you.”

“Yes.”

“And that was it, wasn’t it, the only one?”

Cas smiles slightly with the right side of his mouth. He balls Dean’s t-shirt into his fist as he pushes himself up to look the hunter in the eyes.

He takes Dean’s bottom lip ever so gently between his own and kisses softly, purposefully. He pulls away and puts their foreheads together, both of Dean’s hands now exploring Cas’s back.

“Yes, my love, that was it.”

Dean moves one of his hands to the back of Cas’s neck and presses their lips once more together. The gesture isn’t as soft as Cas’s, it’s heated, passionate, and the green-eyed man soon finds himself breathless. Cas chuckles as he moves back down to Dean’s chest.

“We still have three more hours to sleep, Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes playfully, resuming stroking the angel’s back.

“So much to learn about you, man. You and that nine o’ clock wake up time. Ya know, you can get up whenever, it don’t gotta be the same time every morning.”

“Well, nine seems to work the most effectively. Chuck gets here around ten now. You like to shower and cook breakfast before he does, so nine was the latest we could wake in order for you to do those things. And I want to stay here with you, like this, for as long as possible.”

Dean smiles, a sweet and heartwarming gesture that appears on the right side of his mouth. He inclines his head forward to kiss the top of Cas’s head.

“All right, nine it is, Angel.”

With a contended sigh, the Seraph and his hunter drift into the land of dreams once more.

*******

Dean pulls the Canadian bacon, eggs, cheese, and English muffins from the fridge and places them on the counter next to the stove.

He watches as Cas stares at the slowly dripping coffee, and wonders if the angel contemplates speeding the process up with his grace. He chuckles slightly to himself as he places his arms around Cas’s waist from behind and nuzzles his face into Cas’s neck.

“This coffee maker is decidedly slow, Dean.”

“Well, I uh, guess we gotta see how we can make time speed up, huh?”

Dean begins to drag his lips playfully along Cas’s neck, kissing and nipping ever so slightly. Cas leans his head back on Dean’s shoulder, exposing his neck more fully to the hunter.

Dean quickly finds a sweet spot, enjoying Cas’s gasps and slight moans as he works on a particularly sensitive place on the angel’s neck.

His name is uttered on pristine light pink lips and Dean knows he must stop before things become too heated, too intense, too _real_. He pulls away from the neck he used to only be able to dream about, admires his handiwork of slight bruising, licks his lips and backs away.

Cas turns to him slowly, eyes glazed, pupils dilated, and Dean, for all his willpower, was entranced.

“Did I, did I do something wrong?”

_Oh, Cas._

“Hell no, Angel.” Dean snickers as he looks down at the floor and scratches the back of his neck before meeting his boyfriend’s questioning gaze.

“You did everything too right. Look man, your dad’s gonna be here soon, and if we kept that up, I wouldn’t have been able to quit, and we woulda ended up…”

He stops here, unable to continue – not because he couldn’t say it, he could say it. But it was different with Cas, and that was something Dean Winchester never planned on encountering.

“In bed?”

Leave it to Cas.

“Yeah, Cas, in bed. Or on that counter.”

Cas looks to the peninsula behind him and shrugs, giving Dean the idea he would have been okay with that scenario. Dean swallows and clears his throat.

“So, uh, yeah, not the time.”

“I understand, Dean.”

Cas goes about making three coffees, Dean grabs him once he’s done and Dean has the bacon and eggs cooking with the English muffins in the toaster oven. He pulls the angel’s body close to his own and slightly nibbles on his earlobe before whispering:

“But, that doesn’t mean the time won’t be soon, Babe.”

He delights in the slight shudder Cas gives before the angel turns and kisses him with a heat he was surprised a heavenly being could conjure. But just as soon as their lips were joined, they parted, and Cas placed the mugs in everyone’s spots – leaving Dean breathless for the second time that morning.

*******

After taking an abnormally large bite from his breakfast sandwich, Chuck positions his fingers over the keyboard and wiggles them dramatically. Dean rolls his eyes and Cas takes small sips from his mug, savoring every flavor molecule. Once more, Dean is entranced. How did he get here? Fuck. Whatever got them here, he knows he didn’t deserve it.

Maybe his alter did. Maybe his alter didn’t tell his Cas that he was the reason everything went wrong. Maybe _he_ didn’t tell _his_ Cas that his son deserved to die. Dean finds himself swallowing an emotion he didn’t want to deal with as he once more focuses his attention on the fucking delicious breakfast sandwich he made.

But because Cas was _Cas_ and he was so _good_ , and so intuitive where Dean was concerned, he reached his free hand out and placed it lightly on Dean’s knee. The gesture that began this whole… thing. Fuck. Thing? What a fucking cop out. You know what? Romance. That began this whole _romance_. Dean was fucking proud he allowed himself to even think the word.

“Okay, so we left off where you turned Anna into Heaven’s jail.”

Cas nods slowly, his sadness apparent in a slightly furrowed brow and down-turned mouth. Dean places a hand on top of Cas’s.

“So, yeah, let’s start from there.”

With a nod that encompasses so many emotions Dean is lost in the poetic beauty of it, Cas once more begins.

*******

Castiel watches as a bloody and broken Dean stands from the motel room floor, looking at the door his brother just went out. He tilts his head as Dean kicks and throws things about the room, watches with interest as tears escape the human’s eyes.

In the pit of his grace, hid in folds, a scarlet wavelength begins to throb, drawing the Seraph’s attention. For some reason he cannot explain, the angel wishes to make himself known in an attempt to comfort the human. He settles the foreign emotion as he watches the man continue to thrash about the room, finally plopping himself on the ornate bed.

With squinted blue eyes, the angel looks beyond the bloody exterior to the soul inside. The brightness of it delights the angel of tears for reasons he cannot explain, nor does he wish to.

However, the brightness swirls with the colors of pain, of regret, of a type of dismal longing Castiel knew from his experiences with humanity could only be filled with one thing – what the humans termed _love_.

The novel wavelength pulls at the word, and Castiel becomes frightened. Heat surges throughout his form as he looks to the Righteous man and the wavelength warms, causing anxiety to pull the grace tightly within his vessel.

Dean bows his head as he pulls out his phone, defeat written across every feature.

And Castiel _knows_ , he knows.

If this man, the man who was meant to save them all could be this downtrodden, this defeated, in this much pain, then there was no hope for anyone else. This world would be better burned to ash.

Then the souls, all the bright souls, would fill Heaven and they would all be in paradise. No more pain, no more suffering, no more brother against brother.

Even they would be at peace. His Righteous man and his brother with the demon blood and the flicker of soul.

And yet, something felt “off”, that piffling, that scratch, that itch in the back of his mind and in the pit of grace.

He looks up and watches as Dean brokenly talks to the man named Bobby, the man Castiel knew was a father to a broken boy who was taught to shoot salt rounds before he knew how to throw a baseball.

The pit deepened, the missing pieces screamed from the ether and an angel born from a star felt like screaming with them.

But he stood, steadfast, the perfect soldier.

Only, he wasn’t.

He never really was.

*******

Dean licked his bottom lip as he looked to his angel. He sighs slightly. He gets up to retrieve the plates and puts them in the dishwasher.

Cas is silent and Chuck simply stares at him, igniting every fear Dean felt regarding the blue-eyed man’s condition.

With every squint of Chuck’s ancient all-knowing eyes, unease grows in Dean’s pit and he has to actively swallow the rising emotion.

He puts the pillow in Cas’s lap and lays so that the angel can stroke his hair. This was the day Cas fell for him and Dean wanted to relish every moment.

Okay, that was beyond sappy, beyond Hallmark, but there was no one around to care. And at this moment, where he could see his mark on Cas’s slightly exposed collarbone, Dean did not give one solitary fuck what anyone would think anyway.

He knew Cas well enough to see the unease, the worry Dean would be angry with him for spying on him.

“Cas, it was your job then, Buddy. I get it. I ain’t mad or nothing.”

He can see the relief in the slight lowering of shoulders, the beautiful face becomes slightly less set.

The angel begins to stroke his boyfriend’s hair, his thumb resting ever so slightly on his forehead.

“Thank you, Dean.”

Because he’s Chuck, the being has to put in his unwanted two cents before Cas’s story continues.

“Still with the ‘Buddy’, Dean?”

Narrowed green eyes go ignored as ancient fingers linger over a modern keyboard.

*******

“The time is nigh, Cassie.”

Castiel simply stands in room made specifically for Dean Winchester. A room that was nothing more than an ugly prison disguised in ornate beauty. Unease swirled within him, a piffling itched, a pit throbbed, and Castiel, angel of the Lord, shoved deep down the emotion he knew as _doubt_.

Zachariah looked around at his handiwork, nodded, and rubbed his hands together.

“Not bad.” His lips pull down at the corners, painting a comical sight. Castiel would laugh – if there were anything to laugh about.

Zachariah snaps into existence burgers and beer, and Castiel tilts his head.

“Yeah, Dean-o is not a man of expensive taste.”

Scrunched eyes cause his superior to roll his own.

“Maybe after this whole apocalypse thing is over, you’ll lighten up a little. I miss Uriel’s jokes.”

Castiel shrugs, it looked unnatural, but felt right.

“Are we to get him now, then?” Castiel swallows, an action that was not needed, and looks to the side, avoiding Zachariah’s glance.

“Just about. Uh, Michael’s ready, the unholy one is ready, so yeah.”

Castiel’s confusion was evident in the furrow of a human’s brow. “I do not understand, I thought Dean was the one…”

Zachariah sighs, walks over to Casitel, and pats him on the shoulder patronizingly. “Castiel, need to know basis, and uh, right now, you? Don’t need to know.”

The angel nods, his eyes watching a beetle as it scurries across the floor.

A large shoe causes the creature to make a sickening ‘squish’ sound, and Castiel is forced to look away.

“So, your boy’s at Bobby’s. Go pick him up, bring him here.” Another aggressive pat. “That’s a good soldier.”

With a flap of wings, Castiel was gone – off to retrieve the Righteous Man for his destiny.

*******

“Dude! Such a dick!”

Cas snorts out a half laugh.

“I kinda wish you would’ve been the one to stab him now, Cas.”

“I feel he tortured you far more than he did me, Dean.”

Dean’s scrunch of his face and dramatic pout of his lips make him look as if he is contemplating which of them was more wrongly treated by the former angel.

“I don’t know man, you definitely had to serve more time with the douche.”

“Yeah, uh, you two arguing about who had the right to kill someone is adorable and all, but uh, we got a lot of literary ground to cover today, so, yeah…”

Cas resumed stroking Dean’s hair and the hunter made a very large point of not rolling his eyes, thank you very much.

*******

Castiel watched with interest and an unrelenting _itch_ deep in a pit of grace, scarlet blooming against the Seraph’s will. Dean’s eyes took in the sight before him, wide and unbelieving in his sudden change of scenery from Bobby’s window to this disgustingly picturesque room full of everything Dean Winchester wasn’t.

Castiel’s flight was almost instantaneous. He grabbed Dean by the arm and brought him here, the man an unwilling participant in his fate. Castiel felt _something_ at that thought, and for reasons unknown, the name _Emanuel_ is present in his mind. 

He breaks in on the hunter’s disbelief with words that seemed natural, although he did not know why.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean looks to him then, and the _something_ strikes his grace with sickening waves. _Doubt, pain, sadness,_ and _guilt?_ He looks at Dean, and he knows there is something there, something he cannot place because the pieces were ripped from his grace with a drill in a trained angel’s tendrils. Pieces that scream from the ether, a heart-shaped bit of grace wailing from a spelled jar on a shelf in a secure location in Heaven.

The would-be organ pumps grace throughout its form in that spelled jar and it calls to its maker, begging to be known. And Castiel _feels_ and he _wants_ , he _years_.

But nothing can be done.

He is a soldier.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

And:

“It’s almost time.”

“Yeah, for what?”

The man’s slight rise of his chin indicates to the angel his displeasure. But Castiel cannot tell him, it’s not his place. In order to avoid whatever forbidden and unwanted emotion the man would draw from him, Castiel flies away to tell Zachariah he obeyed his orders, leaving Dean alone in the room he knew nothing about, and had no idea what it was for.

“You obeyed. Good job, soldier.”

Castiel looks to the side as Zachariah pats him on the back once more.

“I knew you had it in you, kid.”

He looks back to scrunch his brow.

“Watch.”

With a wink Zachariah makes visible to Dean the burgers and beer he brought into existence on the table.

“I don’t understand, watch what?”

Zachariah sighs dramatically.

“You don’t get it do you? Still, after we rearranged every wavelength, after we removed the memories, you are still a broken angel who came out with a crack in his chassis.”

“Rearranged…?”

Zachariah smirks out a laugh as his lips raise comically on the right side. “Yeah, Cassie. You know how many times you’ve been in Naomi’s chair to get rid of whatever broken bits your grace seemed to create? Huh? How many times Kushiel cut your wings?”

Castiel looks to the side, “No.”

“Dozens, kiddo. And yet, you’re still _you_.”

Zachariah folds his hands in front of him as he watches Dean in the room from his place on a pristine white floor in the confines of one of Heaven’s many offices.

“You’re useful though, gotta give you that. You got that one to swear his obedience. Not bad. That’s what we needed. I guess it’s because he trusts you because of that crack. Go figure.”

_Itch._

_Burn._

_Grace seeping._

“But uh, we got him now. So, that’s that. And you…”

Castiel looks to his superior, worry apparent in blue eyes.

“You are gonna keep being reprogrammed every time you screw up. You know why?”

A shake of the head.

“Because you’re entertaining Cas. You’re fun. No matter how many times we torture you, you always just go back to loving _humanity._ ”

Zachariah shrugs his shoulders.

“Hum, strange though, how you love them. They’re so, broken. Especially that one.”

Their conversation ends there, as Zachariah flies both he and his angel charge to Dean.

“Hello, Dean.”

Two words uttered by an angel who should not have said them, they felt _wrong_.

Castiel stands straight, erect, tall, behind Zachariah. He knows what he is now, what he has done, and what is to become of him if he fails to obey, again. Zachariah’s words put a fear in him he did not have before. He knew something happened to him in Heaven - he could still feel the evidence with the pain in his wing, and yet he forgot just how much pain. He wanted to keep the small fire in his pit, it warmed him, especially in the presence of Dean. It was pleasant to feel so warm when he had for so long been nothing.

He didn’t want it to be cut out again. He liked this, this _love_ Zachariah mentioned. So, he would obey, in order to _feel_.

Castiel watches as Dean turns to face them.

“You’re looking fit.”

Castiel was always so unsure of his brothers’ words. ‘Fit’? Was that supposed to be a pun regarding the status of Dean’s vessel being a ‘fit’ for Michael?

Dean makes a ‘scoffing’ noise as he addresses the angels and puts down the beer bottle he had in his hand.

“Well, how ‘bout this? The Suite Life of Zach and Cas.”

Castiel, unsurprisingly, does not understand Dean’s string of words. He tilts his head slightly as a memory not his own presses itself unto the forefront of his mind.

_“Daddy, please, just one more episode.”_

_Sticky fingers wrap around a trench coat not yet taken off from a long day at the station._

_“Claire bear, it’s already late and your mother is not going to be happy with me.”_

_“Daddy, please, just one more? Zack and Cody are going to get in trouble with their mom and I want to see it.”_

_Little arms unwind themselves and a besotted father hangs his coat up on the rack and smiles down at his daughter who shares his eyes._

_“Just one more.”_

_A bright grin meets him, and a sticky hand entwines with his own and leads him to the television._

_“Watch it with me Daddy?”_

_“Okay sweetie. Question?”_

_Earnest blues meet teasing ones._

_“Yes?”_

_“Aren’t those two always in trouble with their mom?”_

_“Daddy.” A playful punch to the shoulder as the two settle in side by side on the couch._

Cas snaps himself out of the memory.

 _Piffle_.

“It’s a – never mind.”

Dean looks down, and Castiel wonders why he almost felt the need to explain the reference.

 _Itch_.

“So, what is this, where the hell am I?”

Castiel’s superior was answering all the questions, and much like in a motel room with another angel not so long ago, Castiel simply stood.

“Call it a greenroom. We’re closing in on the grand finale here, we want to keep you safe before showtime.”

Zachariah reaches for the burgers he manufactured. “Try a burger, they’re your favorite. From that seaside shack in Delaware. You were eleven I think.”

_Piffle._

_Itch._

Dean looks at the burger. “I’m not hungry.”

A memory of a hotdog with spilled ketchup yearns from the ether for the green-eyed man who never seemed to turn down food.

“No?”

Castiel simply watches the superior who, with a snap of his fingers, could order Castiel tied to a chair with Enochian bindings. He could order the angel of punishment to mar and deface his wings, allowing grace to seep from them, frenzied, trying to heal and yet unable as the weapon that cut them is divine.

“How about Ginger from season 2 of ‘Gilligan’s Island’? You do have a thing for her don’t you?”

As Dean’s eyes moved in what appeared to be contemplation, Castiel felt an _itch_ in that warm pit of grace he could not understand.

“Tempting. Weird.”

A very, very slight smile played on the left side of Castiel’s mouth.

“We’ll throw in Mary Ann for free.”

“No, no.”

 _Itch_.

“Let’s bail on the holodeck, okay? I want to know what the game plan is.”

Of course he did. Because Dean was so much more than a man who could be easily manipulated by food or sex. He was so much more than the sum of his parts. The _piffle_ grew and the _itch_ spread, turning into a slow burn. A fantastic type of burn. Hands warmed by a fire on a snowy day, homemade chicken noodle soup on a cold December night, a blanket to block the breeze of the air conditioner. This burn encompassed every other feeling in the angel’s grace, and he steeled himself with oxygen, allowing every element to overcome his grace.

What was this?

It fascinated and terrified him.

Was this the feeling of which Zachariah was speaking?

The unknown was exhilarating. And yet, it felt _familiar_?

He steadied himself with the fear of cut wings and wavelength extractions.

A spelled chunk of grace steadies in a spelled jar.

“Let us worry about that.”

Castiel focuses once more on his superior after the angel’s uttered words. Words Castiel knew Dean would pay no attention to.

“We want you to be focused, relaxed.”

“Well, I’m about to be pissed and leaving, so start talking Chuckles.’

Zachariah sighs and begins walking around the room. “All the seals have fallen. Except one.”

“That’s an impressive score, that’s… That’s right up there with the Washington Generals.”

“You think sarcasm’s appropriate do you? Considering…” Zachariah turns back to face Dean and Castiel knows, he knows, the angel is going to hurt Dean, just as he had so often done before.

“You started all this?”

_Burn._

_Piffle_.

“But the final seal…”

Zachariah walks past Dean once more and pats him on the shoulder.

“It’ll be different.”

“Why?”

“Lilith has to break it. She’s the only one who can. Tomorrow night – midnight…”

“Where?”

“We’re working on it.”

“Well, work harder.”

“We’ll do our job, you just make sure you do yours.”

“Yeah, and what is that, exactly? If I’m supposed to be the one who stops her. How? With the knife?”

Castiel can barely keep his position. The burning consumes him and he wishes to know what it is, he hates it, and yet he wants it. It burns and yet it soothes.

“All in good time.”

“Isn’t now a good time?”

“Have faith.”

“What, in you? Give me one good reason why I should?”

He wondered if the red that moved throughout his grace was visible to anyone but him. He wondered how it managed to not show on his vessel. The heat rose and undulated throughout his form. He wondered why it sparked at defiance. This broken man in front of him set his grace alight and he wished he wouldn’t, but he wanted it to never stop.

Zachariah moves closer to Dean: “Because you swore your obedience.”

 _Piffle_.

“So obey.”

_Piffle, piffle, piffle._

Castiel felt _his_ eyes then, and the burning became slightly unpleasant, as if it were running throughout his form not only with the most pleasant type of heat but also random pulsations of ice. It stung, and Castiel hung his head with what could only be described as shame.

*******

Dean raises his hand to run his fingers along Cas’s jawline, relishing the slightly prickly stubble he feels under them. That stubble he often woke up to nuzzling into his neck, the stubble that would brush against his sensitive lips, creating a myriad of sensations Dean never wanted to stop.

Cas’s eyes greet him with their beautiful blue and long, ebony lashes.

“It grew back that quickly?”

Cas’s eyes crinkle at the corners with mirth.

“Did you expect any less? You evoke the strongest emotions in me, Dean.”

Dean’s thumb rests in the slight cleft of Cas’s chin, and his mind runs through all the things he is going to gift Cas with tonight when they are alone.

Alone.

Oh Chuck.

Dean drops his hand with a wink, which earns him a smile from his boyfriend.

*******

Sensing his guilt, Zachariah takes Cas and they leave Dean to return to one of Heaven’s many offices.

“You feel bad about that whole, swearing his obedience thing, don’t you solider?”

“No.” An answer given too quickly with eyes averted to the spotless floor.

“Good.”

Zachariah smirks and nudges Cas with his elbow to get him to watch Dean like the hunter were some exhibit in a Zoo.

“You want to know what job the unholy one has?”

Squinted eyes betray a ‘yes’.

“He’s going to kill Lilith, breaking the final seal. Poetic, isn’t it?”

Castiel starts, but he has no where to go, nothing to do. He is stuck.

“Don’t grapple with it, Cassie. Think about it, I mean look at your pet there. He’s calling his brother, telling him ‘it’s okay’ blah blah blah. But it won’t matter. They are nothing more than cogs in our machine.”

 _Piffle_.

“Sammy’s strong enough to kill Lilith, releasing our fallen brother, who will fight Michael, we’ll win, and then paradise.”

Castiel simply nods as he looks at Dean. He has seen their bond, and he knows Dean could stop Sam from killing Lilith, if they were only given the chance to see one another again.

As if Zachariah can read his mind, he begins: “But, here’s the thing, Cassie. Deano’s message won’t get through to Sam like that. I’m gonna spice it up a little, let Sam think Dean thinks he’s a monster, yada yada yada.”

“For what purpose?”

“You don’t see it do you?”

Castiel looks to his superior with genuine confusion on his angelic face.

“They are so codependent, Dean could convince Sam not to kill Lilith, thwarting all our efforts. And for what? So this sad ball of dirt, blood, and humanity can continue?”

Zachariah’s face turns as he looks disgusted. “Look at him, he’s desperate for nothing. The world will end, he will play his part, and we will all get to rest. Without dealing with _them_ , and guarding their souls. Or whatever.”

“But Sam, he’s…”

Zachariah rolls his eyes.

“The sword requests your presence. I knew you were useful for something, Cassie.”

*******

“Wait.”

Dean sits up and turns to face Cas.

“Zach changed the message I left Sam?”

Cas shrugs affirmatively. “Yes, he did.”

“Sam, he, he never told me what he thought I said.”

Chuck rolls his eyes towards a fake firmament.

“Does it matter, Dean? You can’t call him right now to have one of you boy melodrama moments, so let’s get on with this chapter, kay?”

Dean hated him. Dean fucking hated him. He wanted to punch his smug face over and over again until all his teeth were knocked out. He hated him for what he did to all of them, forcing them to be hamsters on his fucking wheel.

Cas could sense his boyfriend’s anger and he gracefully gets up from the sofa, taking Dean’s hand and leading them into their bedroom.

Dean’s anger can be felt in his fingertips as they vibrate with the need for a kill.

Cas moves them so Dean is leaning against the closed door with Cas’s body surrounding him. Castiel begins to slowly and purposefully kiss Dean’s neck as Dean had done with him that morning. He grazes his teeth very slightly along his Adam’s apple and is rewarded by Dean leaning his head back.

“Fuck, Cas.”

Hands that were itching for violence now travel up and underneath Cas’s t-shirt, fingers pressing into solid flesh.

Castiel’s lips travel up Dean’s jaw and he nibbles slightly on his earlobe, causing a small gasp to escape dark pink lips.

Cas ends by kissing Dean’s lips passionately, and they both feel desire pool in their pits. Cas breaks away and looks into Dean’s eyes.

“Hello, my love.”

“Hiya Cas.”

“Better?”

“You have no idea how much better.”

Cas smiles and Dean relishes the crinkles in his eyes.

“You seem to be quite enamored with the story of how I fell for you, and we haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

Dean chuckles slightly as he moves his hand to cup Cas’s chin.

“All right, but uh… Cas?”

“Hum?”

“This?”

Dean kisses Cas once more quickly.

“Hell of an outlet.”

A bright smile makes Dean forget they were imprisoned in another of Chuck’s whims.

*******

A seraph created from a star in constant eruption with the colors of platinum, ebony, and sapphire blue watch as his charge tips over a plaster angel, making it fall and shatter into a hundred pieces on the floor.

“You asked to see me?”

Castiel watches with interest as Dean appears to have an emotion over the action. Was that guilt? Shame? No. It was more impish. Like a child who got caught coloring on the walls.

“Yeah, listen, I uh, I… I need something.”

Castiel knew they were to provide the Righteous Man with everything he desired, except for one thing. And even with all the pieces of his puzzle screaming from the ether, Castiel knew Dean would more than likely ask for the one thing he could not give.

“Anything you wish.”

Oh how the Seraph hoped it would be something he could provide.

“I need you to take me to see Sam.”

Of course.

It was here Castiel’s grace seemed to be conflicted for reasons he could not yet understand. His warmth grew at man’s devotion to his brother with the demon blood and flicker of soul. He could feel it in his vessel even, combining with a soul and delivering the same feeling a good drink of whiskey would produce.

He knew his orders and what he was supposed to do and help orchestrate, and he would do just about anything to keep this warmth, to have not it cut out.

“Why?”

“There’s something I got to talk to him about.”

Oh Dean, if only you could. Castiel was unsure of why he wanted to help. He tried to draw his memory back to that hotel room where a broken and bleeding Dean was crying into the phone, his pain on full display. He tried to think of all the times he saw humanity suffer at one another’s hand, of the wars, the pestilence, the death. He tried to think of Cain slaying Abel, of Eve eating the fruit, of the Egyptians enslaving the Israelites, of the Son’s murder. He tried to think only of the failures of humanity.

“What’s that?”

He knew, of course he knew. But it was his job to pretend he didn’t. His job to act as if this were right, and there was not a piffling in the back of his mind whispering the name _Emanuel_.

“The B.M. I took this morning. What’s it to you?”

The angel let the odd phrasing not affect him.

“Just make it snappy.”

Dean was always Dean. Demanding, outspoken, and unabashedly protective of a little brother he carried from a burning house when his arms should have carried nothing more than a toy truck or a doll. Castiel allowed the warmth to settle in his pit and showed as little emotion as possible on a face that was not yet his own.

“I don’t think that’s wise.” Guilt causes him to look away, and he himself longs for peace of Paradise.

“Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

As was usual with this man in front of him, the anger fueled the warmth, the flame. It was between them then, the heat. Castiel steadied himself for an inevitable argument. He squares his shoulders, protrudes his chin, and retorts. He is not fully comprehending of why he reacts this way, but the heat is palpable, and he revels in it.

“Have you forgotten what the happened the last time you met?”

It’s cold, it’s unforgiving, and yet, the heat intensifies and Castiel does not regret it. Not yet.

“No.”

A stare that seems natural occurs between them, and the angel wonders what humans do when they feel this type of intensity. Did Dean feel it too?

“That’s the whole point.”

He wanted to make things right. And Castiel knew he could, but he was not allowed. It had to end.

“Listen, I’m going to do whatever you mooks want, okay? I just need to tie up this one thing. Five minutes – that’s all I need.”

Oh, how the Seraph wants to give him the five minutes, nay an eternity to make peace with his brother. But he can’t. It would ruin everything the angels, _they_ worked for. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t be _right_.

 _Piffle_.

“No.”

_Piffle._

Dean’s eyes never left his face, and Cas felt exposed for a brief moment as Dean’s eyes traveled from his eyes to his lips, then back up again.

“What do you mean, no? Are you saying that I’m trapped here?”

_Yes._

“You can go wherever you want.”

 _Piffle_.

“Super. I want to go see Sam.”

“Except there.”

The intensity faded, and Castiel missed it. He seemed unable to give Dean anything he asked, and that settled uneasy in his grace, causing anxious undulations – giving rise to a new species of birds in the Florida Keys.

“I want to take a walk.”

“Fine, I’ll go with you.”

For a being who did not require sleep, the Seraph found this to be exhausting.

“Alone.”

“No.”

They were so close here, their faces mere inches apart. Castiel wondered, for a fraction of a second, what it would feel like to connect with skin to skin contact. Would the heat intensify? Would it cool? Would the flame be fanned, or would it be extinguished?

“You know what? Screw this noise. I’m outta here.”

Oh, Dean. Castiel wished with all his grace he could let the man go, that he could go find Sam, and the apocalypse could be stopped. But that’s not what Castiel wanted, not really. Was it?

Peace.

He wanted peace.

And yet, the green-eyed man in front of him was anything but peace. He was a tornado, he was movement, freedom, danger. And yet, he wanted _him_. And that feeling scared Castiel, and he once more decided Paradise was the only option. For what was so worth saving if an angel could fall so easily for a _human_?

“Through what door?”

This room was perfected for entrapment.

When Dean turned around to face him, the door disappeared, as the room was secured for all things human.

Castiel has to fly away them, back to the office because he can no longer take it, the heat, the intensity, the feelings – they all had to be _wrong_. But they didn’t feel wrong, they felt right.

A park bench with an elderly man presses itself into the forefront of Castiel’s mind and he wishes for it all to be over. The uncertainty is overwhelming. 

Zachariah pulls Castiel away from his thoughts as he clasps his hands together loudly in front of him.

“Can you smell it?”

A furrowed brow greets his superior.

“The sweet smell of success.”

“No, my vessel does not detect any odors.”

Zachariah rolls his eyes.

“We are about to win here, Cassie. All of us. And those two mud monkey brothers are going to finish this up. Think about it, one brother breaking the first seal, the other breaking the last.”

Castiel did not feel his brother’s joy.

“Old Dad couldn’t have written a better story.”

*******

Chuck’s look of displeasure makes Dean feel a slight warmth in his own pit. At least the smug bastard was _annoyed_.

“He really said that?”

Cas nodded.

“I’m glad you stabbed him, Dean.”

Dean felt a slight chuckle rise in his throat as he looked up into his boyfriend’s kind blue eyes. An arm more muscular that Jimmy’s ever was rests on his stomach, his other hand stroking Dean’s hair slightly.

Dean stared at lips he wanted to feel _everywhere_ , quickly decided that was not the best course of action for the particular moment and put one of his arms to rest on top of Cas’s.

Chuck, again, shook his head knowing the moment they were about to delve into, the moment he was about to write into a masterpiece – was the moment that changed _their_ world into a world he never truly expected, but rolled with nonetheless.

*******

Castiel reluctantly flies once more to the green room, following Zachariah’s orders. The angel was concerned about Dean’s behavior and _feelings_ after revealing the grand plan, and Zachariah didn’t want to deal with it himself – so he delegated.

But it was more than an order – it was a desire. Castiel wanted to be with Dean, around Dean, feel Dean’s presence.

The Seraph appears behind a distraught Dean as the man is attempting to once more call his brother. Castiel knows he will not be able to reach him, as the room was not designed to be a full prison, inescapable, a trap.

 _Lying in wait_.

“You can’t reach him, Dean. You’re outside your coverage zone.”

It came out sarcastically, which the angel did not intend. He simply tried to use human lingo.

“What are you gonna do to Sam?”

Of course the Righteous Man was concerned about his brother – Castiel expected nothing less.

He moved closer to Dean in order to rekindle the heat- oh how he enjoyed the heat.

“Nothing. He’s gonna do it to himself.”

He positions himself so that he is facing his charge, eyes connected as they have been so many times before.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Castiel doesn’t want to answer, not really. He looks to the floor. He knows this man’s feelings towards his brother, and in spite of, or maybe because of, he doesn’t want to hurt him. He looks to the floor once more.

“Oh right, right.”

Dean moves closer as he talks, creating the heat Castiel craved.

“Got to toe the company line.”

Shame floods throughout grace and a lilac that was thriving in the lawn of an elderly woman in Washington withers away.

Castiel looks up to him, to Dean, to his Righteous Man, shame, guilt, and something else apparent in the face of his vessel and on his grace.

“Why are you here, Cas?”

Why indeed. Because he was ordered. No, that wasn’t it. Because Dean caused his grace to erupt in the best type of flame, and he wanted to feel that constantly. He needed to feel that. And yet, he disappointed Dean at every turn – causing pain to be mixed with the elation.

“We’ve been through much together – you and I…”

_A strong grip in Hell. A forbidden clue. A dollop of Ketchup. Heat._

“And I just wanted to say I’m sorry it ended like this.”

So, so sorry. The angel wondered if he could be around Dean’s soul in Paradise. It was ending wasn’t it? Their earthly adventures. That was right, was it not?

 _Piffle_.

Dean’s stare can be felt right in the pit where a new heart shaped mass was forming.

“Sorry?”

Dean scoffs, draws his arm back and punches the angel square on the jaw, doing nothing more than turning his head.

It did not hurt Castiel physically, how could it? But something was broken when Dean threw that punch.

Castiel turns his face back to Dean, fully aware Dean was cradling his slightly injured hand.

“It’s Armageddon, Cas.”

Dean turns around to face him once again.

“You need a bigger word than ‘sorry’.”

The company line.

“Try to understand – this is long foretold.”

That mattered, didn’t it?

 _Piffle_.

“This is your…”

Dean cuts the angel off, and Castiel is almost pleased for the interruption.

“Destiny?”

Yes. That had to be right. It was always _them_. And what was written had to come to pass.

 _Piffle_.

“Don’t give me that ‘holy’ crap. Destiny, God’s plan… It’s all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son-of-a-bitch!”

Castiel felt the anger again, that was never too far gone between them. He became angered at Dean’s words. God’s plan was just, it was right, it had to be.

“It’s just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line!”

Grace seeping onto a pristine floor so a created soldier can fight without question.

“You know what’s real? People, families, that’s real. And you’re gonna watch them all burn?”

Heat, so much heat. Castiel called to mind the wars, the famines, the people crying in streets, dying from cold, toiling in the hot sun until their bodies were broken, their skin cracked. He thought of all the people he couldn’t save because he was one angel on a mission from a Heaven that did not care for the people it was meant to shepherd. He watched as atrocity after atrocity occurred – all because of man’s _free will_. He watched as the man in front of him sat on an ornate bed lamenting the fight he had with his brother who drank demon blood by the quart. He watched as Dean was filled with hate for his situation, regret for Sam, shame, anger, and guilt. The bright soul burned, but around it swirled so many bleak emotions it made Castiel dizzy with its impact.

“What is so worth saving?”

He moves closer to Dean, the heat swelling between them.

“I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion. In Paradise, all is forgiven. You’ll be at peace. Even with Sam.”

That should have done it. Telling Dean that once this was all over their souls would be at peace, together. But this was Dean Winchester, and Castiel should have known.

Pain is apparent in green eyes, and Castiel is once more forced to look away.

He feels as Dean’s eyes search for his own, and he looks to meet them.

“You can take your peace… and shove it up your lily-white ass. ‘Cause I’ll take the pain and the guilt. I’ll even take Sam as is. It’s a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in Paradise. This is simple Cas!”

Castiel did not understand some of the words, but he fully understood the gist. Dean didn’t want Paradise is it wasn’t real. And although that caused him pain, and he turned away, he also knew, he knew – there was his Champion.

He didn’t understand the word, not then. But it echoed from the ether.

“No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here.”

_Emanuel._

“And you know it.”

 _Piffle_.

Dean violently turns the angel around by the arm to face him once more.

“Look at me!”

So much heat, the intensity almost swallows the Seraph whole.

“You know it!”

“You were gonna help me once weren’t you?”

He was, or he wasn’t? He couldn’t remember. The pieces screamed, begging for their presence to be known, and their creator looks away unable to fully answer – the holes in his grace screaming, begging to be made whole.

“You were gonna warn me about all this, before they dragged you back to Bible camp. Help me – now. Please.”

If Castiel were human, he would be gasping for breaths to steel his nerves. But he is an angel – and his grace flurries around his vessel’s heart and a small snowstorm overtakes a town in New Hampshire.

“What would you have me do?”

It’s said angrily, intensely, because it has to be.

“Get me to Sam. We can stop this before it’s too late.”

If he takes that option, if he bends to Dean’s will, he knows what will happen.

“I do that, we will all be hunted. We’ll all be killed.”

“If there is anything worth dying for… this is it.”

Castiel couldn’t, he couldn’t. Dying was one thing – being hunted and tortured was another thing entirely. His emotions were apparent on his grace, he knew that. He could not even fathom what would be in store for him if he rebelled and he was caught. He could not fathom the mutilations. He wondered why he cared so much. Was it for himself? He thought somewhere it wasn’t. Was he not agreeing for _Dean_? That had to be it.

The bloom in the pit of grace throbbed.

He would be at peace this way, the other way they would all be hunted. They couldn’t go against the grand plan.

Could they?

“You spineless… soulless son of a bitch.”

Dean walks away as he hurls insults.

“What do you care about dying? You’re already dead. We’re done.”

Why did those words _hurt_?

“Dean…”

He wanted to atone, to explain, he wanted _him_ to understand, again.

“We’re done.”

Castiel flew. He did not have a set destination, which took him where he needed to go instead of where he wanted to go.

*******

Castiel smiles sweetly down at Dean, briefly stopping his soothing motion through Dean’s hair.

“Are you ready for the spoilers?”

Dean grins.

“Hell yeah.”

Chuck sighs and shakes his head before returning to his keyboard.

*******

Heaven can be described as a collection of doors, each one opening either into an office or the habitation of a soul. There were few souls in Heaven which were readily guarded – not with angels, but with the brightness of the soul itself. Castiel just so happened to land in the habitation of the brightest soul Heaven contained.

Castiel knew not where he was, nor did he care. He leaned against the closed door, which was now an ancient dwelling. He looks around him – unsure of where he is.

“Who might you be stranger?”

A man with tanned, weather-worn skin, and a bright smile exposing pleasantly crooked teeth clasps the man who spoke to Castiel on the shoulder fondly.

“Come now Luke, do you not remember our friend Castiel? He was among us when I found you tending that man’s leg.”

Luke looked at the angel.

“But his clothes, my Lord.”

The Son smiles, a mirthful thing.

“He has not come from our time dear friend. And after all this time, you still do not call me Jesus.”

Luke laughs and pats Castiel affectionately on the shoulder.

“Welcome to Heaven, friend. I am Luke.”

Castiel attempts to smile warmly, but sorely misses the mark. He intruded upon the Christ’s Heaven, a crime punishable by death, a death not even lived.

“Hello.”

Jesus huffs out a laugh. “Do you mind excusing us, Luke? I feel I need to talk to our friend here.”

“Of course.”

With a nod, Luke walks away and Castiel breathes out, an action not needed, but a helpful one.

“I cannot apologize enough my Lord, I…”

The Son stops Castiel with a squeeze of his arm.

“Come, let us walk. I feel your mind is heavy.”

Castiel sighs, nods, and walks alongside the Son, and he cannot help but feel as if a burden has been lifted.

“Tell me your troubles my brother.”

Castiel swallows a strange emotion rising up from his pit into his throat.

“I do not know where to begin.”

“I feel as if you would like to begin at a very specific place.”

Castiel smiles slightly in spite of himself.

“Perhaps. I was tasked with pulling the vessel for Michael out of hell. I did so, and I know that should have been it, but I…”

He trails off here, ashamed for what he had allowed.

“It is written on your grace Castiel, do you know what it is?”

“I fear it is love.”

The Son clasps his hands behind him in an easy-going manner as they walk throughout the streets of Jerusalem.

“You should not fear love, for it is the emotion that creates and inspires us.”

“I am an angel, I should not… feel.”

“You are a being capable of great love Castiel, and you fell in love with a human and came to love humanity as a result, and that, my brother, is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Castiel stops and looks into brown eyes that hold peace whereas his own only hold shock.

“I… Dean is…”

Jesus smiles widely.

“A righteous man, it is no sin to love him, Castiel.”

Castiel nods and they continue to walk.

“I was told I admired humans before, and I was… reconditioned.”

Jesus sits and reclines on the temple’s steps, and Castiel sits beside him.

“You spoke of Dean being Michael’s vessel. Is it so soon then, my return?”

The Son looks to the sky in front of Him, eyes searching the horizon.

“I perhaps counted time incorrectly, I did not think the time was nigh.”

Castiel looks to his shoes, and he toes a piece of stair that came lose.

“Our brothers became… impatient.”

Jesus nods with understanding. “I see. Where is our Father?”

Castiel looks to the side, unable to meet warm brown eyes that hold all the sincerity humanity and divinity could muster.

“We do not know.”

Jesus closes his eyes and allows the sun to stream brightly on his face.

“I feel that you are facing a decision Castiel.”

“I am, yes. Dean… he asked for my help.”

“You are considering rebellion, to fall?”

“If I am, would I…”

Jesus opens his eyes and smiles.

“My friend, you are not Lucifer.”

Cas coughs out a cross between a laugh and a sob and buries his head in his hands.

“I want to help him, but I am scared. I will be hunted, I will be killed.”

Castiel only realized the irony of his statement when he once more allowed himself to look into the eyes of the Son.

“You were there, one of my last earthly days, do you recall?”

Castiel swallows and looks to the horizon in front of him.

“Yes. Greater love hath no man than this, to lay down his life for his friends.”

The Christ bends down to draw in the dirt in front of them.

“Love is the English word and does the work of many emotions. In the Greek, it is slightly more accurate.”

Castiel leans forward to see the words the Son wrote in the dirt.

  * **Eros** ( _sexual passion)_
  * **Philia** ( _deep friendship)_
  * **Ludus** ( _playful love)_
  * **Agape** ( _love for everyone)_
  * **Pragma** ( _longstanding love)_
  * **Philautia** ( _love of the self)_



“I believe you exhibit all of these my friend, except perhaps ‘ _philautia_ ’, or rather you do not love yourself, not yet.”

Castiel knew he should experience some shame, especially for the _eros_ , but he found he did not. Rather, he was proud he experienced all of these that the Christ wrote in the sand.

Blue eyes meet brown once more, both slightly filled with tears.

“As I am a soul, I am bound to my Heaven until the end times, and not the end times our impatient siblings decided upon, but the one written by our Father. Dean may very well be Michael’s true vessel, and although I and our Father are one, I do not know what has become of him, and I do not know what course he intended for us to take. I cannot advise you where that is concerned, friend.”

The Son places a weather-worn hand, dry and cracked with work upon Castiel’s chest.

“However, I feel goodness in you. Kindness, gentleness, I feel your love Castiel, and I encourage you to follow where that emotion leads.”

Castiel’s nostrils flare and he looks to the Christ, the man he followed in the desert over 2,000 years ago.

“My Lord, I cannot thank you enough.”

They both stand and Jesus wraps Castiel in an embrace the angel returns, although unfamiliar with the gesture.

Once they break apart, Jesus places his palm on Castiel’s cheek.

“Save the humanity we love, my brother.”

Castiel closes his eyes, turns his cheek slightly into the palm of the Son, and flies back to the green room.

*******

Ancient eyes close tightly as all-powerful hands summon a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the ether. Chuck takes a long draw straight from the bottle as he watches the two beings in front of him.

“Holy shit, Cas.”

Dean sat up to look at Cas on a more equal level.

Cas smiles fully, tears brimming in beautiful blue.

“Aren’t you glad I didn’t spoil it for you last night?”

“Jesus, Jesus.. This…” Dean gestures between them with a hand and Cas huffs out a type of laugh.

“Yes, the Son helped me understand what I needed to do.”

Dean did not give a solitary fuck Chuck was in the chair across staring at them. He pulled Cas’s face to his and kissed his perfect lips.

Dean couldn’t convey his emotions properly for this exact moment. Cas was unsure of how to proceed and happened upon the one person he needed to hear from – the one person he looked up to from the beginning. Dean always thought Cas just took a second to think about it, but of course that wasn’t it. He had to be told he _loved_ humanity just as the Son had done, he had to be told it was okay, it was condoned. Cas turned on everything he had ever known, he was hunted, and he did all of it for him.

And although he already knew it – the conversation with Jesus hit him like the proverbial ton of bricks.

When he broke away, he kept their foreheads together.

“You are one impressive Angel.”

“Yeah, he’s great. Can we get back to it now?”

*******

Castiel knew his plan required two things – swiftness and participation. The first one would not be a problem, the second…

He appeared behind Dean just as the man was about to take a bite into one of the forbidden burgers. He forcefully turned him around by the shoulder and forced him against the wall. He covered Dean’s mouth with his hand and stared into his eyes willing the man to see the intent behind him.

Castiel pulled the demon knife from his waistband while still maintaining eye contact with Dean. Their main adversary in the green room would be Zachariah, and Castiel knew he needed a very important sigil drawn with his own blood to deal with him.

Dean nodded slightly with his head and even more so with his eyes. Castiel knew he _understood_ , and the love he now knew he felt, although he was far from completely understanding it, grew.

Castiel uses the knife to make a cut on his forearm, using angel blood to draw a sigil on the wall he knows will cause Zachariah to be dissembled once it’s activated. His mind is so clear now, so focused. Emotions stay within his pit as a new, self-appointed mission begins to be unearthed. Castiel knows why, as he’s painting the sigil with his own blood, Dean values his choice – because there is nothing that feels like this – freedom.

“Castiel!”

The angel barely acknowledges his superior’s presence as he finishes his sigil.

“Would you mind explaining just what the hell you are doing?”

As Zachariah advances, Castiel places his hand on the finished sigil, causing Zachariah to disappear in a flash of bright white light.

“He won’t be gone long. We have to find Sam now.”

The clarity the Seraph now felt had so long evaded him that Castiel felt reborn.

“Where is he?”

Sam had such a high level of demon blood in him, as well as probably being warded by the demon who accompanied him that Castiel was unable to locate him.

“I don’t know.”

Castiel thought quickly, his strategic mind coming up with a solution almost instantaneously. The prophet.

“But I know who does.” 

Castiel handed the demon knife back to Dean, his blood still dripping from the blade.

“We have to stop him Dean, from killing Lilith.”

“But Lilith’s gonna break the final seal.”

Oh yes, they were not on the same page yet. Well, at least _that_ was easily remedied.

“Lilith is the final seal. She dies, the end begins.”

Their eyes meet intently once more, and without asking permission, but simply taking the man he was risking everything for _Greater Love Hath no Man Than This_ , Castiel takes Dean by the shoulder and flies them to the house of Chuck Shurley.

They appear side by side in the kitchen of the writer, who is on the phone with… someone.

He looks shocked to see them, surprise evident in his wide eyes.

“Wait. T-t-this isn’t supposed to happen.”

Castiel smiles inwardly, knowing that although it wasn’t written, it was the only thing that felt _right_ in a long time. The piffling had disappeared, and in its stead was this feeling that could almost be described as peace – in doing the right thing.

“Sir?”

They hear from a lady on the other end of the phone, who Chuck turns his attention back to.

“No, lady, this is definitely supposed to happen, but I just got to call you back.”

Chuck presses the ‘end’ button on his phone and looks at the angel and human in front of him.

“I..”

He looks at the phone somewhat guiltily, for reasons Castiel could not ascertain.

Castiel brushes by Dean and stands in front of Chuck.

“We are in need of the location of Sam.”

Chuck shakes his head. “I, uh, I don’t get it, you aren’t in this story, not like this.”

“Yeah, well, we are now.”

Chuck shakes his head and hands Dean the printed copy of his final pages of “Lazarus Rising”.

“Saint Mary’s what is it? A Convent?”

“Yeah, but you guys aren’t supposed to be there. You’re not in this story.”

Castiel breathes in as he steadies himself. His grace pulls to his charge to protect him from the archangel that is about to reign down upon them. He knows, deep in that pit that houses his love for Dean, that while the world’s time may no longer be nigh due to one stubborn hunter – his is. And the understanding of that, and his peace with his decision allow him to know he is dying for a cause – and that, that is all any being could ask for. He understands the Son’s peace in His final days. He smiles inwardly as he replies to Chuck:

“Yeah, well, we’re making it up as we go.”

He feels Dean’s eyes on him, and he dare not look because the man wasn’t exhibiting anger, but _something_ that evoked more emotion, and Castiel was so new to human sentiment he feared the look may make him waver, and he enjoyed being resolute.

The electricity began to flicker and a bright light began to descend upon the house of Chuck, and Castiel knew it was time.

“Aw man, not again.”

Castiel offhandedly thought this prophet was the only one who had firsthand accounts with angels.

“It’s the archangel!”

The angel has to raise his voice to be heard above the rumbling and shaking of the house. He had one mission now – to get Dean to Sam.

“I’ll hold him off – I’ll hold them all off! Just stop Sam.”

Castiel pushes Dean to St. Mary’s with an outreached hand and a push of grace.

Castiel looks to the window in front of him and awaits his fate, barely aware the prophet was standing next to him.

Chuck puts his hand on the angel’s shoulder, which Castiel did not fully understand. He looked to the prophet then, and the man removed his hand as tentatively as he placed it.

“Castiel.”

The voice was deep, commanding, and the Seraph looked behind him. Chuck quickly scurried off, hiding against a wall.

With angel blade raised, Castiel faced his older brother.

“Raphael.”

The archangel laughed mirthlessly. “You cannot kill me, Castiel.”

“I am aware.”

“And yet, here you are, ready to sacrifice your very existence for what? Hum? Dean Winchester?”

“Yes.”

Raphael scoffs and raises a hand.

“Perhaps yes, you have distracted me long enough for him to complete whatever task you sent him on, but as they say, you may win the battle, but not the war.”

With a defiant jutted chin, the angel born from a star answers: “The battle is all I came for, brother.”

With a snap, an existence that lasted for millennia is snuffed out, leaving nothing but an exploded vessel behind.

Raphael brushes off his suit – and disappears.

*******

Chuck clears his throat as he closes his laptop.

“I’m guessing that was a moment?”

Dean looks into blue eyes that died for him, eyes that forsook everything – for him. And he is entranced.

“Fuck yeah, a big one.”

There is something different about Chuck here, something the ancient being himself cannot describe. He nods, no quips. He finishes his bottle of Jack’s, and simply disappears.

Dean sits up only to scoot Cas’s body under his in one fluid motion.

He quickly finds the spot he was working on that morning, enjoying every response Cas’s body gives him. When his name is moaned, he breaks away and stares into Cas’s eyes, a familiar motion.

“How about you go do some research while I set up our date, huh Babe?”

“You are cruel to leave me like this Dean Winchester.”

Dean smirks.

“Like what?”

“Wanting.”

Fuck it all. Was the date really necessary?

Dean contemplated.

Yes, it was necessary.

“Just go do the research.”

He sits up and Cas reluctantly follows suit.

“What is the attire so I can find appropriate clothing before heading to our home office?”

Dean grinned. “Semi-formal.”

Cas nodded and walked back toward the bedroom.

*******

Dean seriously doubted Cas would be able to find out anything about the Empty on the computer, but he thought it was worth a try. I mean their alters had to be hunters at some point, right?

Dean never really had the chance to put too much thought into romantic endeavors and he kinda wished he could call Sam to ask for advice. He smiled wistfully at the thought of his younger brother suspended in time, waiting on him and Cas to finish the story.

Dean let out a breath with air filled cheeks. He was gonna enjoy this chance damn it, he knew it would probably never come again. Just him and Cas – no monsters.

He walks to the garage devoid of any cars and begins to rummage around in the box marked ‘Christmas’. He laughs to himself, thinking his boyfriend had a firsthand encounter with the being responsible for the holiday.

And He was kind, understanding, and he helped Cas realize what was worth dying for. And for what, to be shoved behind a door in Heaven without a means of escape?

Dean calms his rage with a steeling breath and a memory of Cas’s lips on his.

He begins to pull out string after string of clear lights and smiles to himself as he looks at how perfectly wrapped they were – not a tangle in sight.

“That was definitely Cas.”

*******

Cas’s eyes are drawn away from the computer screen as he feels Dean’s presence in the doorway. The angel smiles at Dean’s attire – white dress shirt, gray slacks, and an emerald green tie that perfectly mirrored his eyes.

Dean smiles and looks down bashfully, he looks back up to see Cas advancing toward him. He has to swallow forcefully as the angel is wearing a black dress shirt, black slacks (that were definitely not too tight thank you very much) and a silver tie that was a color Dean imagined was running throughout the angel’s wings.

“Uh, so I’m supposed to pick this guy up for a date, but if he doesn’t show, maybe you would want to fill in?”

Dean winks at the Seraph and Cas’s laugh fills his soul with mirth.

“Is that an innuendo Dean Winchester?”

Dean blushes and Cas reaches forward to wrap a hand behind his neck, drawing their faces close.

“I’d be happy to.”

Dean takes Cas’s lips in his own and gently kisses him before breaking away.

Dean scratches the place Cas’s hand just left and smirks. “You ready to head downstairs Angel?”

“After you.”

“Such a gentleman.”

Cas shakes his head playfully and follows Dean out to the lanai.

Cas huffs out a laugh of disbelief as he looks at the splendor around him. Dean had strung lights around the porch, along with candles placed on various tables, including the small outdoor dining table where their dinner was laid out with a bottle of wine in the middle.

“Dean, this is…”

Dean interrupts him with a quick kiss.

“Less than you deserve Babe.”

He pulls a chair out and indicates with his hand for Cas to sit.

Once Dean takes his place opposite, Cas takes his hand and kisses each of his knuckles one by one.

“You are far more than I deserve, Dean. I will spend whatever time I have left on this earth making you aware of that.”

Dean did not like that phrasing one little bit, but this was not the time to argue, so he looked at Cas’s lips – the best distraction. So far.

Cas lets go of Dean’s hand to look at his plate.

“It looks delicious my Love.”

“Yeah, we had some ribeyes, thought it would work.”

Cas cuts his steak expertly with the steak knife and Dean tries really hard to pay attention to his own food. The moans of pleasure from pristine light pink lips did not help at all.

“Dude.”

Cas sends a questioning eyebrow to him and Dean felt tingles move from his pit Southward.

“You cannot eat like that around Sam, or you know, in public.”

Cas laughs, and Dean enjoys the slight puffiness that occurs under his eyes as a result.

“My love, food is only a sensual experience where we are alone. Surely you have noticed I eat differently around my Father.”

Dean nodded as he was chewing on a piece of perfectly cooked steak.

“Yeah.”

“But with you, everything feels more intense, more robust. Every molecule vibrates with excitement when we are alone, Dean.”

Fuck it all. Was the rest of this date really necessary?

“You are one smooth talker with me, Cas.”

“Well, I love you Dean.”

Cas takes a thoughtful bite of baked potato. Dean licks his bottom lip and nods.

Dean gestures with his fork to the air.

“So, I uh, thought this would be a good time to explore your music taste.”

Cas takes a long sip of his wine, closes his eyes and listens.

[Sam Cooke's "Bring it On Home to Me"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WjtndPBN6jE)

He smiles slightly as he once more picks up his fork.

“Sam Cooke.”

Dean nods, his teeth on full display.

“Yeah, you uh, like this one?”

“Indeed I do. His heaven, Dean, is filled with singing. It is beautiful. He was a pioneer in many ways, the world was remiss to lose him so soon.”

“I know I come off as this classic rock enthusiast, which I am, but uh, I want you to enjoy what we listen to too.”

“I very much enjoy your taste in music, Dean. The tape you gave me has been playing on repeat in my car ever since you gave it to me.”

Dean swallows his potato forcefully, along with the emotion crawling up.

“Sam made all kinds of fun of me for that, man.”

Cas chuckles as he expertly cuts another piece of steak.

“Simply because a ‘mixtape’ is typically a gesture for romantic adoration.”

“Yeah, for that.”

Dean loved the way his boyfriend phrased things.

“I had so many hopes you felt the same way towards me Dean, but I was content to be your family.”

Dean purses his lips and looks straight into eyes that were his fucking home.

“You were waiting on me?”

“I suppose I was waiting with you.”

[Elvis's "The Wonder of You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5eEvfOyb7k)

Cas turns his head in his typical fashion as he smiles at the change in song.

“His Heaven is full of singing as well.”

Dean talks, mouth full as was his typical fashion:

“Dude, you’ve been in The King of Rock and Roll’s Heaven?”

“Of course. His gospel music comes from a place of his soul many were not privy to. They are beautiful.”

“Well, I uh, chose this song, because uh, you kinda make me feel like the lyrics.”

Cas smiled with pursed lips as Dean shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

“I appreciate that, Dean.”

Dean nods without making eye contact.

Once their plates are empty, Dean leads Cas by the hand to the outdoor couch, where two glasses and a bottle of Tennessee Whiskey await them.

[Chris Stapleton's "Tennessee Whiskey"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zAThXFOy2c)

Cas looks to Dean as the hunter is opening the bottle and the green-eyed man simply shrugs with a coy smile playing upon his beautiful face.

“You are full of wonders, Dean Winchester.”

“I ain’t all kicking in doors and punching faces.”

Cas takes Dean’s face in his hands, and the angel’s warmth sends a pleasant shiver up Dean’s spine.

“You are the epitome of everything good, my love, and I am honored to know you, honored to love you.”

Dean licks his bottom lip as he hands Cas his glass. He reclines back on the couch, one leg stretched out against the cushions, and one on the floor. He pulls Cas into the space his legs leave, causing Cas to lean his back against Dean’ chest with both of his legs spread out on the couch.

They sip their whiskey in comfortable silence, Cas’s hand on Dean’s thigh, as Dean thinks.

He had been here countless times with women and men, but he hadn’t been _here_. This was Cas. This was the being he was pining for, thinking his feelings were unrequited for over a decade. Cas who fell for him. Cas who gave up everything for him. With Cas it wouldn’t be having _sex_ , it wouldn’t be _fucking_ , it would be _making love_ , and that? That terrified him.

Oh, how he wanted to. Cas’s hand on his thigh was a reminder of that. The press of the angel’s body against his own, the heat and passion in their kisses. Dean’s breath became slightly ragged, and of course Cas noticed.

[Billy Currington's "Must Be Doing Something Right" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbQfE2Oi6Wo)

Cas took their glasses and set them on the table. He turned his body so he was looking Dean in the eyes.

The hunter’s breath became hitched and he wanted Cas to take all his doubts away, all the feelings of inadequacies, he wanted to get lost in Cas.

“There is one thing I would like to try.”

Dean nods, obvious apprehension apparent in the gesture. How the fuck was Cas the chill one in this situation? Cas who had sex with one, well, two beings? And Dean being a fucking mess after being essentially a sex god. Deep down, well it wasn’t really even all that deep anymore was it? Dean knew _why_. Cas told Dean frequently how much he loved him, so _making love_ wasn’t a stretch, it just was.

“What’s that, angel?”

“Dancing,”

Okay, so Dean was not expecting that. He huffs out a laugh and stands up, reaching for Cas’s hand.

“Well, I can’t disappoint my angel tonight can I?”

Cas grins and allows Dean to lead him to a free space on the lanai.

Dean puts his hands on Cas’s waist and Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck. They begin to sway back and forth slowly, their gazes never wavering.

“Now you’re dancing.”

Cas nods.

“So I am.”

[Hozier's "Take Me to Church" ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVjiKRfKpPI)

Cas moves his hands from around Dean’s neck to his hair and angles their heads so their lips will slot perfectly together.

Dean feels the slight perspiration forming on his hands and grips Cas’s waist tighter, allowing the fabric to soak up his nerves.

Cas kisses him as if he is trying to connect Dean’s soul to his grace through his mouth and Dean allows a whine to escape his lips, and Cas swallows it and Dean knows there is no escaping where this is leading – not that he would desire anything else.

He wants Cas _everywhere_ , and as if the angel can hear his thoughts his lips move from Dean’s mouth to his neck, and cool hands begin to untuck Dean’s shirt. Dean does the same to Cas’s shirt, and his hands explore the angel’s firm back, fingertips dig into muscle and Dean whispers:

“Bedroom.”

Cas removes his body from the entanglement of lips and hands and leads them with a cool hand gripping a slightly damp one into the room.

As they stand in front of their bed, Cas’s lips easily finding their spot once more, his hands deftly loosening Dean’s tie, the hunter backs away, both of his hands on Cas’s chest.

“Was I doing something wrong, Dean?”

Dean bows his head and licks his bottom lip, tears forming in green eyes.

“No, Babe. I just...”

Their eyes reconnect and Cas moves his hands from Dean’s tie to his waist.

While they were walking from the lanai to the bedroom, Dean knew how to make this different. He knew, as realization dawned upon him like a break in the fog, what he needed to do in order to make _this_ with Cas different than the one night stands he so often experienced.

His hands move from Cas’s chest to either side of his face, Dean closes his eyes as he puts their foreheads together. He can feel Cas’s warm breath brushing against his lips and he allows the feeling to fortify him.

“I…”

He licks his lips once more, and the breath from Cas quickly dries the moisture.

“You, uh…”

He closes his eyes and quickly pecks Cas’s lips with his own.

“I…I – I…”

He opens his eyes again and stares into Oceanic blues that are pooling with tears.

“I love you, Cas.”

The angel huffs out a laugh, a release, and Dean inhales it. The angel’s eyes allow the held-in tears to escape and he kisses Dean with a full smile, and although it is not the most passionate of lips meeting, Dean relishes the angel’s happiness at a confession of feelings Dean held in for so long.

Dean finds tears escaping his eyes as well, and he and Cas are standing in front of the bed they have shared for a series of glorious days, shirts untucked, ties slightly undone, crying and smiling.

“I love you too, Dean.”

Dean pulls the angel’s body to his own and buries his face into the Seraph’s neck.

The moment was poignant, and the feelings of love could be felt in the room. The relief and the heat were palpable.

Dean was vulnerable here, exposed, and he felt naked. And he knew that it was different now, between them. While his body had been exposed countless times with numerous people, he never felt undressed. But now his soul was stripped, and he knew the only person he would have ever been able to be bare with was Cas.

Cas could feel Dean’s exposure, and he thought of Adam and Eve’s nakedness in the garden. He knew his hunter, and his righteous man needed to feel safe, and he knew what he needed to do.

“It’s my ass isn’t it?”

Dean laughs into Cas’s neck, knowing the attempt at humor is for his sake, and Dean loves, yes loves, Cas all the more for it.

Dean grabs Cas’s ass in both hands and pulls him into him, their bodies flush against one another and responding appropriately.

Dean moves his head from Cas’s neck as he kisses all along the stubble, nibbles Cas’s earlobe, feels the coarseness of the man’s stubble on his tongue as he finally settles on Cas’s lips.

“I mean, that’s definitely part of it.”

The passion and heat return, as does the undressing.

*******

As Dean caresses the sleeping angel’s hip as his boyfriend’s body is laying on top of his he thinks to all the turns they made to get here, and how much time they wasted.

But Cas’s bare chest against his own, their legs tangled in glorious nothingness, Cas’s hot breath against his neck makes him not regret all those turns but be thankful for them.

For all those turns, all that long road paved with good intentions led them here.

On a bed,

In a beach house,

With Cas laying bare in his arms.

Dean smiles as he realizes,

An angel fell for him,

In every way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! You all are wonderful. I would LOVE to hear from y'all. Comments make my week and kudos make my day, and both make me smile from ear to ear. 
> 
> Thank you dear readers for following this tale. 
> 
> Up next: "Sympathy for the Devil"


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